LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


JZ*^*>* 


THE  POE  CULT 

and 

OTHER   POE    PAPERS 

With  a  New  Memoir 

By 
EUGENE  L.  DIDIER 


- 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Broadway    Publishing    Company 


835  Broadway,  New  York 


Copyright,  1909, 

BY 

EUGENE  L.  DIDIER. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


In  Memory  of 

my  only  Son, 

J.  D'ARCY  DIDIER, 

the  Pride  of  my  Heart,  and  the  Hope  of  his 

Family,  who  Died  on  the  23d  of  August, 

1907,  in  the  Bright  Promise  of 

Early  Manhood. 


Ok  .*     *    t* :  f~ 


ftf 


H/HV 


NOTE  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 
The  twenty-three  separate  articles  comprised 
in  this  volume  have  been  published  in  vari 
ous  American  magazines  during  the  last 
thirty-five  years.  In  reading  them  over  in 
proof,  I  find  that  some  expressions,  and  even 
some  statements,  have  been  repeated.  It 
was  almost  impossible  to  avoid  such  repeti 
tions,  written,  as  the  articles  were  so  many 
years  apart,  and  for  so  many  different  mag 
azines. 


TO  THE  READER. 

From  my  boyhood  the  writings  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe  have  possessed  a  singular  fascination  for 
me.  Admiration  of  his  works  led  me  to  a  close 
and  exhaustive  study  of  the  poet's  strange  and 
romantic  life.  Although  sixty  years  have 
elapsed  since  Poe's  death,  an  amazing  amount 
of  ignorance  still  exists  upon  the  subject  of 
his  life  and  character.  It  is  hoped  that  the 
present  volume  will  do  something  toward  dis 
pelling  this  ignorance,  and  present  the  author 
of  "The  Raven"  to  his  countrymen,  and  the 
zvorld,  in  some  of  the  most  interesting  phases 
of  his  remarkable  career. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  Poe's  death, 
his  name  and  fame  were  under  a  cloud.  But 
during  the  present  generation  a  great  and  won 
derful  change  has  taken  place— 

"Through  many  a  year  his  fame  has  grown, — 
Like  midnight  vast,  like  starlight  sweet, — 
Till  now  his  genius  fills  a  throne, 
And  nations  marvel  at  his  feet." 

EUGENE  L.  DIDIER. 
Baltimore,  Md. 


CONTENTS. 

Memoir  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  7 
The  Poe  Cult  '  75 
Poe:  Real  and  Reputed  8? 
The  Boyhood  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  96 
Poe's  Female  Friends  102 
Poe  and  Mrs.  Whitman  117 
The  Loves  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  123 
Poe  and  Stoddard  135 
Ingram' s  Life  of  Poe  140 
Woodberry's  Life  of  Poe  145 
Recent  Biographies  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  150 
The  True  Story  of  Poe's  Death  175 
The  Grave  of  Poe  180 
The  Poe  Monument  184 
Portraits  of  Poe  ipi 
The  Poe  Mania  203 
The  Semi-Centennial  of  America's  Great 
est  Poet  207 
The  Truth  about  Edgar  A.  Poe  216 
Poe  in  Society  241 
Recollections  of  Poe  by  the  Witnesses  of 

His  Life  252 
Poe  as  Seen  by  Stoddard,  Stedman,  and 

Harrison  261 

The  "Discoverer"  of  Poe  272 

Poe  and  the  University  of  Virginia  2JJ 

The  Centennial  of  the  Birth  of  Edgar  A. 

Poe  284 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Edgar  A.   Poe Frontispiece 

PAGE 
Elizabeth  Poe .        .  <      .      8 

.  '4 
Maria  Clemm   .        .        .        .        .        •  /     •        •        •        -33 

Geo.  R.  Graham  (Editor  Graham's  Magazine)    .        .        -    45 

Washington  Coll.  Univ.  Hospital 74 

Sarah   Helen  Whitman  117 

Poe  Monument,  Baltimore      .  184 

Marie  Louise  Shew 273 


UNIVERSITY 


The  Poe  Cult 


MEMOIR  OF  EDGAR  A.  POE. 

The  year  of  Edgar  A.  Poe's  birth— 1809— 
was  an  annus  mirabilis  in  literary  history.  In 
that  year  were  born  Alfred  Tennyson,  Eliza 
beth  Barrett  Browning,  Edward  Fitzgerald, 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Charles  Darwin, 
William  E.  Gladstone,  besides  the  subject  of 
this  Memoir.  Among  these  illustrious  names, 
Edgar  A.  Poe  was  the  first  in  point  of  time, 
and,  in  the  estimation  of  many,  the  first  in 
genius.  For  three  score  years  and  more  the 
time  and  place  of  his  birth  were  unknown.  His 
early  biographers  gave  1811  as  the  time,  and 
Baltimore  as  the  place  of  his  birth.  In  order 
to  ascertain  the  truth  about  the  matter,  I  con 
sulted  Mrs.  Maria  Clemm,  the  poet's  aunt  and 
mother-in-law,  who  told  me  that  he  was  born 
in  Boston,  on  the  igth  of  January,  1809. 

Although  more  than  a  dozen  lives  of  Poe 
have  been  written,  there  is  an  amazing  amount 
of  ignorance  upon  the  subject.  This  ignorance 
is  not  confined  to  the  "average  reader,"  but  I 
have  known  college  professors — professors  of 
English  in  reputable  colleges — so  grossly  ig 
norant  of  the  facts  of  Poe's  life  that  they  did 


Ci>e  poe  Cult 


not  know  when  and  where  some  of  his  most 
remarkable  tales  were  written;  and  who  ac 
cepted  with  childish  credulity  the  malicious  and 
mendacious  stories  told  of  him  by  his  enemies. 
David  Poe,  Junior,  the  father  of  the  poet, 
was  the  eldest  son  of  General  David  Poe,  of 
Baltimore.  As  the  younger  Poe  grew  to  man 
hood,  he  displayed  a  fondness  for  amateur  act 
ing,  and,  with  some  other  youths,  formed  a 
Thespian  Club  which  met  in  an  attic  room  of 
his  father's  house.  David  Poe  was  a  law  stu 
dent,  but  so  great  was  his  passion  for  the 
stage,  that,  in  1804,  he  threw  aside  his  law 
books,  and  joined  a  troup  of  strolling  players. 
C.  D.  Hopkins,  the  light  comedian  of  the  com 
pany,  died  in  1805,  and,  in  a  few  months,  Poe 
married  his  widow,  whose  maiden  name  was 
Elizabeth  Arnold.  She  was  of  English  birth — 
pretty,  clever,  sprightly,  vivacious,  and  a  great 
favorite  on  the  stage.  After  their  marriage 
they  continued  their  wandering  theatrical  life, 
traveling  up  and  down  the  Atlantic  Coast  from 
Boston  to  Charleston.  When  they  died — Mrs. 
Poe  on  December  8,  1811,  in  Richmond,  her 
husband,  in  Norfolk,  a  few  weeks  previously 
— they  left  three  helpless  children — the  eldest, 
William  Henry  Leonard,  was  adopted  by  his 
grandfather,  General  Poe ;  Edgar  was  adopted 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Allan,  of  Richmond,  and 

8 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 


Rosalie,  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  of  the 
same  city.  The  future  poet  was  early  taught 
to  read,  write,  draw,  and  recite  verses.  On 
the  I7th  of  June,  1815,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allan 
sailed  for  London,  taken  their  adopted  son 
with  them.  They  remained  abroad  five  years, 
during  which  time  Edgar  was  a  pupil  of  Dr. 
Bransby's  Manor  House  School,  at  Stoke- 
Newington,  near  London.  This  school  and  its 
surroundings  made  a  lasting  impression  upon 
the  receptive  mind  of  the  young  student,  and 
he  described  it  with  minute  accuracy  in  "Will 
iam  Wilson,"  one  of  his  most  striking  and 
original  tales. 

When  the  Allans  returned  to  Richmond,  in 
1820,  Edgar  became  successively  a  pupil  of 
the  schools  of  Joseph  H.  Clarke  and  William 
Burke.  He  stood  high  in  all  his  classes,  and 
was  a  great  favorite  of  his  teachers  and  fel 
low  students.  Professor  Clarke  told  me  that 
Edgar  wrote  genuine  poetry  even  in  those  early 
days;  he  was  a  born  poet;  his  poetical  com 
positions  were  universally  admitted  to  be  the 
best  in  the  school,  while  the  other  boys  wrote 
mere  mechanical  verses.  As  a  scholar,  he  was 
ambitious  and  always  acquitted  himself  well  in 
his  studies.  During  the  three  years  he  was  at 
Professor  Clarke's  school,  he  read  the  prin 
cipal  Latin  and  Greek  authors ;  but  he  had  no 


Cjje  Poe  Cult 

love  for  mathematics.  He  had  a  sensitive  and 
tender  heart,  and  would  do  anything  to  serve 
a  friend.  His  nature  was  entirely  free  from 
selfishness,  the  predominant  defect  of  boyhood. 
At  the  end  of  the  scholastic  year,  in  the  sum 
mer  of  1823,  Professor  Clarke  removed  from 
Richmond,  upon  which  occasion  Poe  addressed 
a  poetical  tribute  to  him. 

William  Burke  took  Professor  Clarke's 
school  and  most  of  his  pupils;  among  them 
Edgar  Poe.  Several  years  ago  Andrew  John 
ston,  of  Richmond,  furnished  me  with  the  fol 
lowing  particulars: 

"I  entered  Mr.  Burke's  school  on  the  first  of 
October,  1823,  and  found  Edgar  A.  Poe  al 
ready  there.  I  knew  him  before,  but  not  well, 
there  being  two,  if  not  three,  years  difference 
in  our  ages.  He  attended  the  school  all 
through  1824,  and  part  of  1825.  Some  time 
in  the  latter  year  he  left.  He  was  a  much 
more  advanced  scholar  than  any  of  us;  but 
there  was  no  other  class  for  him — that  being 
the  highest — and  he  had  nothing  to  do,  or  but 
little,  to  keep  at  the  head  of  the  school.  I  dare 
say  he  liked  it  very  well,  for  he  was  fond  of 
general  reading,  and  even  then  he  wrote  verses 
very  clever  for  a  boy  of  his  age,  and  sometimes 
satirical.  We  all  recognized  and  admired  his 
great  and  varied  talents,  and  were  proud  of 

10 


C&e  poe  Cult 


him  as  the  most  distinguished  schoolboy  in 
Richmond. 

"At  that  time  Poe  was  slight  in  person,  but 
well-made,  active,  sinewy,  and  graceful.  In 
athletic  exercises  he  was  foremost:  especially, 
he  was  the  best,  the  most  daring,  and  most  en 
during  swimmer  that  I  ever  saw  in  the  water. 
When  about  sixteen  years  old,  he  performed 
his  well-known  feat  of  swimming  from  Rich 
mond  to  Warwick,  a  distance  of  five  or  six 
miles.  He  was  accompanied  by  two  boats,  and 
it  took  him  several  hours  to  accomplish  the 
task,  the  tide  changing  during  the  time. 

"Poe  was  always  neat  in  his  dress,  but  not 
foppish.  His  disposition  was  amiable,  and  his 
manners  pleasant  and  courteous." 

After  leaving  Burke's  school  in  March, 
1825,  Mr.  Allan  placed  Edgar  under  the  best 
private  tutors  in  order  to  prepare  him  for  the 
University  of  Virginia.  He  devoted  himself 
to  the  classics,  modern  languages,  and  belles- 
lettres.  Richmond  at  that  time,  as  now,  was 
celebrated  for  its  polished  society.  Into  this 
society  Edgar  Poe  was  early  welcome — a  boy 
in  years,  but  a  man  in  mind  and  manners.  The 
refined  grace  and  courtesy  toward  women  that 
ever  distinguished  him  may  have  been  then  ac 
quired  in  the  best  society  of  Virginia's  beauti 
ful  capital. 

ii 


Cfie  poe  Cult 

On  the  I4th  of  February,  1826,  Poe  entered 
the  University  of  Virginia.  The  studies  which 
he  selected  were  ancient  and  modern  lan 
guages,  and  he  attended  lectures  in  Latin, 
Greek,  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian.  He  read 
and  wrote  Latin  and  French  with  ease  and  ac 
curately,  and,  at  the  close  of  the  session,  was 
mentioned  as  excellent  in  those  languages. 
His  literary  tastes  were  marked  while  at  the 
University,  and  among  the  professors  he  was 
regarded  as  well  behaved  and  studious.  At  the 
end  of  the  session,  December  15,  1826,  he 
graduated  in  Latin  and  French,  and  returned 
to  Richmond.  Soon  after  his  return,  Mr.  Allan 
placed  him  in  his  counting  room,  but  the  fu 
ture  poet  could  not  brook  the  dull  life  of  a 
clerk,  and,  in  a  few  weeks,  took  French  leave. 
Now  commenced  that  restless,  wandering  life 
which  continued  until  the,  end.  In  the  Spring 
of  1827,  he  found  himself  in  Boston,  his  na 
tive  city,  where  his  mother  had  made  many 
friends  before  his  birth.  Here  the  first  edition 
of  his  "Tamerlane  and  Other  Poems,"  was 
printed — forty  copies.  This  tiny  volume  of 
less  than  forty  pages  has  become  one  of  the 
rarest  books  in  the  world,  only  three  or  four 
copies  are  known  to  be  in  existence,  and  has 
sold  as  high  as  $2,550. 

Having  no  money,  and  no  prospect  of  mak- 
12 


C&e  poe  Cult 


ing  any,  on  May  26,  1827,  he  enlisted  as  a 
private  soldier  in  the  United  States  Army, 
under  the  name  of  Edgar  A.  Perry,  and  was 
assigned  to  Battery  H  of  the  ist  artillery. 
After  a  short  service  in  Boston  his  battery  was 
ordered  to  Fort  Moultrie,  near  Charleston,  S. 
C.  It  was  while  stationed  there  that  the  story 
of  a  buried  treasure  was  suggested  to  him, 
which  was  afterward  made  the  subject  of  one 
of  his  most  remarkable  tales — "The  Gold 
Bug."  By  1829  he  was  at  Fortress  Monroe, 
his  good  conduct  and  strict  attention  to  his 
duties  having  earned  his  promotion  to  the  rank 
of  sergeant-major.  The  officers  under  whom 
he  served  soon  discovered  that  he  was  far  su 
perior  in  education  to  his  position,  and  he  was 
employed  as  company  clerk  and  assistant  in  the 
Commissary  Department.  The  discovery  of 
Poe's  army  record,  taken  from  the  Records  of 
the  War  Department  at  Washington,  disproves 
at  once  and  forever  the  romantic  story  that  he 
went  to  Europe  after  leaving  the  University  of 
Virginia  for  the  purpose  of  engaging  in  the 
struggle  for  Grecian  independence,  to  which 
the  death  of  Byron  had  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  world. 

On  February  28,  1829,  his  kind,  indulgent 
mother,  by  adoption,  Mrs.  Allan,  died.  Her 
death  was  a  great  misfortune  to  Poe,  as  she 

13 


C6e  poe  Cult 


had  always  stood  between  him  and  her  stern, 
relentless  husband.  On  April  15,  1829,  having 
secured  a  substitute,  our  sergeant-major  was 
honorably  discharged  from  the  army,  and  paid 
a  visit  to  Baltimore,  probably  in  order  to  look 
up  his  relatives  there.  His  second  book,  "Al 
Aaraaf,  Tamerlane,  and  Minor  Poems,"  was 
published  in  Baltimore  in  1829 — a  thin  volume 
of  seventy-one  pages.  A  copy  of  this  edition, 
enriched  with  notes  by  the  author,  has  ad 
vanced  in  price  from  $75,  in  1892,  to  $1,825,  in 
1903. 

Mr.  Allan,  wishing  to  place  his  wayward 
ward  where  he  could  earn  a  living,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  be  free  from  all  future  responsibil 
ity,  obtained  his  appointment  to  West  Point. 
He  entered  the  academy  on  July  i,  1830,  per 
haps  the  most  brilliant  and  gifted  cadet  that 
ever  went  there.  He  was  in  the  flower  of 
youth,  and  in  the  first  bloom  of  that  remarkable 
beauty  of  face  and  form  which  distinguished 
him  through  life.  His  rich,  dark  hair  fell  in 
abundant  clusters  over  his  high,  white,  mag 
nificent  forehead,  beneath  which  shone  the 
most  beautiful,  the  most  expressive  of  mortal 
eyes.  He  was  of  medium  height,  but  elegantly 
formed,  his  bearing  being  proud,  lofty,  and 
fearless. 

14 


C&e  poe  Cult 


Poe  stood  high  in  his  classes,  especially  in 
French  and  mathematics — his  great  fault  was 
his  neglect  of,  and  apparent  contempt  for,  his 
military  duties:  His  capricious  temper  made 
him,  at  times,  utterly  oblivious  or  indifferent  to 
the  ordinary  routine  of  roll-calls,  drills,  and 
guard  duty.  These  were  all  and  each  utterly 
distasteful  to  the  young  poet,  whose  soul  was 
filled  with  a  burning  ambition.  He  turned  with 
delight  from  military  tactics  to  the  classic 
pages  of  Virgil;  he  neglected  mathematics  for 
the  fascinating  essays  of  Macaulay,  which 
were  just  then  beginning  to  charm  the  world; 
he  escaped  from  the  evening  parade  to  wander 
along  the  beautiful  banks  of  the  Hudson, 
meditating  his  tuneful  "Israfel,"  and,  perhaps, 
planning  "Ligeia,"  or,  "The  Fall  of  the  House 
of  Usher." 

These  irregular  habits  subjected  the  cadet 
to  frequent  arrests  and  punishments,  and 
effectually  prevented  his  learning  to  discharge 
the  duties  of  a  soldier.  Before  Poe  had  been 
at  West  Point  six  months,  he  found  the  rigid 
discipline  so  intolerable  that  he  asked  permis 
sion  of  Mr.  Allan  to  resign.  This  was  perem- 
torily  refused.  The  reason  was  obvious :  within 
a  year  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife,  Mr. 
Allan  married  Louise  Gabrielle  Patterson,  of 
New  Jersey,  and,  a  son  being  born,  Edgar  Poe 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

was  no  longer  the  heir  to  his  princely  fortune, 
and  he  wished  to  keep  his  ward  in  an  honorable 
profession  which  would  give  him  a  support  for 
life.  Hence  he  refused  to  allow  him  to  leave 
West  Point — consent  of  father  or  guardian 
being  required  before  a  cadet  could  resign. 
But  Poe  was  determined  to  get  away  from  the 
academy,  with  or  without  Mr.  Allan's  consent. 
So  he  commenced  a  regular  and  deliberate  neg 
lect  of  duties  and  disobedience  of  rules:  he 
cut  his  classes,  shirked  the  drill,  and  refused  to 
do  guard  duty.  The  desired  result  followed: 
on  January  7th,  1831,  cadet  Edgar  A.  Poe  was 
brought  before  a  general  court-marshal, 
charged  with  "gross  neglect  of  all  duty,  and 
disobedience  of  orders."  The  accused  promptly 
pleaded  "guilty"  to  all  the  specifications,  and, 
to  his  great  delight,  was  sentenced  "to  be  dis 
missed  from  the  service  of  the  United 
States." 

About  the  time  that  Poe  was  dismissed  from 
West  Point,  he  published  a  third  volume,  en 
titled  "Poems,  by  Edgar  A.  Poe."  The  vol 
ume  contained  "Al  Aaraef,"  and  "Tamerlane," 
from  the  edition  of  1829,  omitting  all  the 
others,  but  adding  the  exquisite  lines  "To 
Helen,"  which  has  won  the  admiration  of  all 
readers;  the  tuneful  "Israfel,"  "Irene"  (after 
ward  remodeled  into  "The  Sleeper"),  and  four 

16 


C!)e  Poe  Cult 


smaller  poems.  The  book  was  dedicated  to  the 
United  States  Corps  of  Cadets,  an  honor  which 
the  cadets  did  not  deserve,  for  they  declared 
the  verses  "ridiculous  doggerel." 

When  Poe  was  dismissed  from  West  Point, 
he  was  in  the  situation  of  Adam  when  he  was 
expelled  from  the  Garden  of  Eden — the  world 
was  all  before  where  to  choose.  He  was  home 
less,  penniless,  friendless.  He  had  been  taught 
to  spend  thousands,  but  had  never  been  taught 
to  earn  a  dollar.  In  this  emergency  he  made 
his  way  to  Richmond,  and  presented  himself  at 
the  home  of  his  youth — the  only  home  he  had 
ever  known — the  Allan  mansion  on  the  corner 
of  Fifth  and  Main  Streets.  His  reception  was 
not  that  of  the  Prodigal  Son  when  he  returned 
to  his  father's  house :  no  fatted  calf  was  killed 
— no  friends  were  invited  to  meet  him — no 
feast  was  spread  to  welcome  the  wanderer 
home.  He  was  coldly  received,  where  he  had 
once  been  the  idolized  child  of  the  house.  We 
all  know  the  influence  of  a  young  wife  upon  a  /( 
fond,  doting  old  husband.  The  second  Mrs. 
Allan  looked  with  disfavor  upon  Poe's  pres 
ence  in  the  house,  and  when  he  appeared,  he 
was  told  that  his  former  room,  which  was  al 
ways  kept  ready  for  him  by  the  first  Mrs.  Al 
lan,  was  now  a  guest  chamber,  and  he  was  as- 


C6e  Poe  Cult 

signed  to  a  small  room  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  which  had  been  occupied  by  Mrs. 
Allan's  maid.  The  proud  and  high-spirited 
young  man  keenly  felt  this  indignity,  and,  re 
fusing  to  allow  his  satchel  to  be  carried  to  the 
room,  determined  to  see  Mrs.  Allan.  A 
stormy  interview  followed,  and  Poe  left  the 
house  forever.  A  letter  written  to  me  by  a 
Richmond  lady,  who  claimed  to  be  "a  confi 
dent  of  Mr.  Poe's,"  says  the  cause  of  the  quar 
rel  between  Poe  and  Allan  "was  very  simple 
and  very  natural  under  the  circumstances,  and 
completely  exonerates  Poe  from  ingratitude 
to  his  adopted  father."  Whatever  was  the 
cause,  the  result  was  that  Poe  left  the  house  as 
already  mentioned.  Writing  many  years  af 
terward  to  one  who  possessed  his  entire  confi 
dence,  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  he  used 
this  passionate  language: 

"By  the  God  who  reigns  in  heaven,  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  am  incapable  of  dishonor.  I  can 
call  to  mind  no  act  of  my  life  which  would 
bring  a  blush  to  my  cheek  or  to  yours.  If  I 
have  erred  at  all,  in  this  regard,  it  has  been 
on  the  side  of  what  the  world  would  call  a 
Quixotic  sense  of  the  honorable — of  the  chival 
rous.  The  indulgence  of  this  sense  has  been 
the  true  voluptuousness  of  my  life.  It  was  for 
this  species  of  luxury  that  in  early  youth  I 

18 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 


deliberately  threw  away  from  me  a  large  for 
tune,  rather  than  endure  a  trivial  wrong." 

After  the  affair  with  Mrs.  Allan,  just  men 
tioned,  Poe  probably  went  to  Baltimore,  and  ^ 
resided  with  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Maria  Clemm.  For  f\ 
the  next  two  years  all  trace  of  him  is  lost,  ex 
cepting  a  letter  which  he  wrote  on  May  6th, 
1831,  in  which  he  asked  William  Gwynn,  a 
Baltimore  editor,  for  employment  in  his  office. 
Not  meeting  with  any  encouragement,  he  next 
applied  to  Dr.  N.  C.  Brooks  for  a  position  in 
the  school  which  he  had  recently  established 
at  Riestertown,  in  Baltimore  County.  Fifty- 
eight  years  afterward,  Dr.  Brooks  told  me 
of  this,  and  said  he  regretted  at  the  time  there 
was  no  vacancy,  as  he  knew  that  Poe  was  an 
accomplished  scholar. 

During  those  two  years  Poe  \vas  not  idle, 
for,  when  the  Baltimore  Saturday  Visitor,  in 
the  summer  of  1833,  offered  one  hundred  dol 
lars  for  the  best  prose  story,  and  fifty  dollars 
for  the  best  poem,  he  submitted  his  "Tales  of 
the  Folio  Club,"  comprising  "A  Manuscript 
Found  in  a  Bottle,"  "A  Descent  into  the  Mael 
strom,"  "Adventures  of  Hans  Pfaall," 
"Berenice/'  "Lionizing,"  "A  Tale  of  the 
Ragged  Mountain,"  etc.  He  also  sent  in  for 
competition  a  poem,  "The  Coliseum."  Both 
prizes  were  awarded  to  Poe  by  the  committee, 

19  • 


C!)e  Poe  Cult 


but,  as  it  was  not  deemed  expedient  by  the 
proprietor  of  the  Saturday  Visitor  to  bestow 
both  prizes  upon  the  same  person,  he  was 
awarded  the  hundred-dollar  prize  for  "A 
Manuscript  Found  in  a  Bottle/'  and  an  un 
known  local  genius  was  given  the  fifty  dollars 
for  the  best  poem,  which  was  no  poem  at  all. 

The  hundred-dollar  prize  was  the  first  money 
that  Poe  ever  received  from  literary  work, 
and,  from  that  time  until  his  death,  he  never 
earned  a  dollar  except  by  his  pen.  He  was  at 
that  time  twenty-four  years  old,  unconscious 
that  there  was  before  him  sixteen  years  of 
suffering  and  sorrow,  of  heroic  struggle,  of 
splendid  achievement,  and  immortal  fame! 

In  winning  the  hundred-dollar  prize,  Poe 
won,  at  the  same  time,  a  good  and  true  friend 
in  John  P.  Kennedy,  who  was  one  of  the  three 
gentlemen  who  composed  the  committee  of 
award.  Every  admirer  of  Poe  should  appre 
ciate  Mr.  Kennedy's  kindness  to  the  young 
poet.  He  alone,  of  the  committee,  extended  a 
helping  hand  to  the  unknown  but  ambitious 
young  author.  He  invited  him  to  his  house, 
made  him  welcome  at  his  table,  and  furnished 
him  with  a  saddle  horse,  that  he  might  take 
exercise  whenever  he  pleased.  He  did  more: 
he  introduced  him  to  Thomas  W.  White,  pro 
prietor  of  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger, 

20 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 

then  recently  started  in  Richmond,  and  recom 
mended  him  as  being  "very  clever  with  his 
pen,  classical,  and  scholar-like."  Mr.  White 
invited  Poe  to  send  him  a  contribution,  and, 
in  the  March  number,  1835,  his  strangely  beau 
tiful  tale,  "Berenice,"  was  published  in  the 
Messenger,  and  attracted  immediate  attention. 
From  that  time,  for  two  years,  Poe  was  a  reg 
ular  contributor  to  that  magazine,  and  was 
rapidly  making  his  name  and  that  of  the  Mes 
senger  known  through  the  country. 

Malice  and  ignorance  have  caused  Poe  to 
be  charged  with  pride  and  ingratitude.  That 
these  vices  were  foreign  to  his  nature,  we  have 
abundant  evidence,  all  through  his  life.  Here 
are  two  examples  which  occurred  at  the  period 
about  which  we  are  now  writing:  He  visited 
each  of  the  gentlemen  who  awarded  him  the 
prize,  and  thanked  them  for  their  approval  of 
his  literary  work.  Again,  in  order  to  show 
Poe's  gratitude  to  Mr.  Kennedy,  I  quote  two 
passages  from  a  letter  written  to  Mr.  White, 
dated  Baltimore,  May  30,  1835.  He  had  writ 
ten  a  criticism  of  Kennedy's  once  famous  his 
torical  novel,  "Horse-Shoe  Robinson,"  and 
apologizing  for  the  hasty  sketch  he  sent,  in 
stead  of  the  thorough  review  which  he  in 
tended,  says,  "At  the  time  I  was  so  ill  as  to  be 
hardly  able  to  see  the  paper  on  which  I  wrote, 

21 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


and  I  finished  it  in  a  state  of  complete  ex 
haustion.  I  have  not,  therefore,  done  any 
thing  like  justice  to  the  book,  and  I  am  vexed 
about  the  matter,  for  Mr.  Kennedy  proved 
himself  a  true  friend  to  me  in  every  respect, 
and  /  am  sincerely  grateful  to  him  for  many 
acts  of  generosity  and  attention.''  In  that  same 
letter,  in  answer  to  Mr.  White's  query,  whether 
he  was  satisfied  with  the  pay  he  was  receiv 
ing  for  his  work  on  the  Messenger,  Poe  wrote : 
"I  reply  that  I  am,  entirely.  My  poor  services 
are  not  zvorth  ivhat  you  give  me  for  them." 

For  two  or  three  years,  Edgar  Poe  had  been 
engaged  in  the  most  delightful  of  occupations 
—the  instruction  of  a  young  girl,  singularly 
beautiful,  interesting,  and  truly  loved.  For 
two  or  three  years  Virginia — his  starry-eyed 
young  cousin — had  been  his  pupil.  Never  had 
teacher  so  lovely  a  pupil,  never  a  pupil  so 
tender  a  teacher.  They  were  both  young;  she 
was  a  child 

"But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 
Of  those  who  were  older  than  we." 

Under  the  name  of  Eleonora,  Edgar  tells  the 
story  of  their  love:  "The  loveliness  of  Eleo 
nora  was  that  of  the  seraphim,  and  she  was  a 
maiden  artless  and  innocent  as  the  brief  life 
she  had  led  among  the  flowers — I,  and  my 
cousin,  and  her  mother." 

22 


C6e  poe  Cult 


Mr.  White  soon  saw  how  valuable  to  his 
magazine  were  the  contributions  of  Edgar 
Poe,  and  in  the  summer  of  1835  he  offered 
him  the  position  of  assistant  editor  of  the  Mes 
senger,  at  a  salary  of  ten  dollars  a  week.  He 
gladly  accepted  this  offer,  and  prepared  to  re 
move  to  Richmond  immediately,  and  his  letters 
show  that,  on  the  2Oth  of  August,  1835,  he  was 
in  that  city. 

In  spite  of  his  rising  fortune  and  increasing 
fame,  he  felt  most  keenly  the  separation  from 
"her  he  loved  so  dearly."  For  years  Virginia /£ 
had  been  his  daily  companion  and  confidante. 
Like  Abelard  and  Heloise,  they  had  but  one 
home  and  one  heart.  In  the  first  days  of  this 
separation  he  wrote  his  friend,  Mr.  Kennedy, 
a  letter,  dated  Richmond,  September  n,  1835, 
in  which,  after  expressing  a  deep  sense  of  his 
gratitude  for  his  frequent  kindness  and  as 
sistance,  he  says:  "I  am  suffering  under  a 
depression  of  spirits  such  as  I  never  felt  be 
fore.  I  have  struggled  in  vain  against  the  in 
fluence  of  this  melancholy ;  you  will  believe  me 
when  I  say  that  I  am  still  miserable,  in  spite 
of  the  great  improvement  in  my  circum 
stances.  Write  me  immediately;  convince  me 
that  it  is  worth  one's  while — that  it  is  at  all 
necessary — to  live,  and  you  will  prove  indeed 
my  friend.  Persuade  me  to  do  what  is  right. 


oe  Cult 


I  do,  indeed,  mean  this.  Write  me,  then,  and 
quickly.  Your  words  will  have  more  weight 
with  me  than  the  words  of  others,  for  you  were 
my  friend  when  no  one  else  was" 

So  great  satisfaction  did  Poe  give  by  his 
work  as  assistant  editor  of  the  Messenger, 
that,  in  December,  1835,  White  made  him  the 
editor  of  the  magazine,  and  increased  his  sal 
ary  to  $800  a  year. 

As  his  pecuniary  prospects  brightened,  his 
first  thought  was  to  bring  his  aunt  and  cousin 
to  Richmond,  where,  in  May,  1836,  Edgar  and 
Virginia  were  married. 

During  the  nineteen  months  that  Poe  was 
with  the  Messenger,  the  circulation  of  the 
magazine  increased  from  700  to  5,000.  This 
remarkable  increase  of  circulation  was  chiefly 
due  to  Poe's  brilliant  contributions,  which  at 
tracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  country. 
Between  December,  1835,  and  September, 
1836,  he  wrote  ninety-four  reviews,  more  or 
less  elaborate,  but  all  striking.  Even  at  that 
early  period  of  his  literary  life,  he  showed  that 
artistic  finish  of  style  which  distinguished  his 
whole  career,  and  that  power  of  analysis  and 
abhorrence  of  careless  writing  which  was  al 
ways  one  of  his  marked  characteristics.  These 
early  critiques  were  not  by  any  means  condem 
natory.  In  fact,  only  three  of  the  whole 

24 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

ninety-four  wrere  decidedly  harsh.  No  Ameri 
can  critic  had  a  more  sincere  appreciation  of 
literary  excellence  than  Poe,  and  he  showed 
it  in  his  criticism.  George  Parsons  Lathrop, 
whose  worship  of  Hawthorne  was  inspired  by 
his  love  of  Hawthorne's  lovely  daughter,  Rose, 
was  unjust  and  unappreciative  of  Poe,  but  he 
was  forced  to  admit  that,  "we  owe  to  Poe  the 
first  agile  and  determined  movement  of  crit 
icism  in  this  country,  and,  although  it  was  a 
startling  dexterity  which  winged  his  censorial 
shafts,  he  was  excellently  fitted  for  the  critic's 
office  in  one  way,  because  he  knew  positively 
of  what  standards  he  meant  to  judge  by,  and 
kept  up  an  inflexible  hostility  to  any  offense 
against  them.  He  had  an  acute  instinct  in 
matters  of  literary  form;  it  amounted,  indeed, 
to  a  passion,  as  all  his  instincts  and  perceptions 
did ;  he  had,  also,  the  knack  of  finding  reasons 
for  his  opinions,  and  of  stating  them  well.  All 
this  is  essential  to  the  equipment  of  the  critic." 
An  estimate  of  Poe  as  a  poet  by  the  same 
unfriendly  critic  is  worth  preserving:  "As  a 
mere  potency,  Poe  must  be  rated  almost  high 
est  among  American  poets;  and  high  among 
prosaists ;  no  one  else  offers  so  much  pungency, 
such  impetuous  and  frightful  energy  crowded 
into  such  small  space.  .  .  .  Let  us  call  Poe 
a  positive  genius.  He  would  have  flourished 

25 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


anywhere  in  much  the  same  way  as  he  did  in 
America." 

Hawthorne  said:  "I  do  not  want  to  be  a 
doctor  and  live  by  men's  diseases,  nor  a  min 
ister  and  live  by  their  sins,  nor  a  lawyer  and 
live  by  their  quarrels.  So,  I  do  not  know  that 
there  is  anything  for  me  but  to  be  an  author/' 
His  relatives  urged  him  to  go  into  business,  his 
genius  forbade  it.  He  was  made  to  feel  that 
he  was  a  useless  dreamer,  and  this  drove  him  in 
upon  himself ;  but  he  persisted.  Poe  must  have 
felt  the  same  way,  saying,  "I  do  not  want  to 
be  a  soldier  and  kill  men,  and  I  won't;  I  will 
be  an  author;"  and  he  was.  Hawthorne  was 
the  natural  result  of  the  grim,  gloomy,  stern 
Puritan  spirit,  but  Poe  had  no  literary  an 
cestors:  he  stands  alone  as  a  strange,  unique, 
mysterious,  fascinating  figure  in  the  literature 
of  the  world,  representing  no  country,  no  race, 
no  time.  His  genius  was  alien  to  American 
soil.  He  stands  alone  among  American  poets 
as  Shakespeare  stands  alonevamong  the  poets 
of  the  world.  He  had  no  predecessor ;  he  has 
had  no  successors.  His  appearance  in  the 
literary  world  was  as  sudden  and  unexpected 
as  it  was  strange  and  \vonderful.  His  original 
and  distinct  genius  astonished  the  world  like 
a  new,  brilliant  planet  suddenly  appearing  in 
the  heavens. 

26 


Cult 


Poe's  message  to  the  world  was  that  man 
does  not  live  by  bread  alone — that  there  is  a 
higher,  nobler,  grander  ideal  to  be  realized 
than  money-getting,  commercialism,  materi 
alism.  Poe's  genius  was  a  revelation  to 
the  world — his  extraordinary  gifts  elevated 
him  far  above  all  his  contemporaries,  and 
placed  him  as  a  star,  apart.  His  own  coun 
trymen  were  not  ready  to  receive  him  when 
he  came,  and  he  suffered  accordingly.  One 
poet  like  Poe  is  worth  more  to  the  world  than 
a  hundred  Rockefellers,  Vanderbilts,  Goulds, 
Carnegies,  and  Harrimans.  Such  men  are  the 
natural  product  of  American  life,  but  Al 
mighty  God  alone  can  produce  a  poet  of  in 
spired  genius.  Poe  had  the  culture  that  some 
times  is  lacking  in  genius;  he  had  the  refine 
ment  which  is  sometimes  wanting  in  great! 
minds.  Itisnot  the  millionaire,_but  the4iQ£k_ 
that  malces  life  worth  living.  The  millionaire: 
Is  really  a  blot  upon  American  civilization;  the 
poet  gives  life  a  tone  and  a  color.  It  has  been; 
said  that  the  memories  of  kings  and  conquerors' 
flit  like  troubled  ghosts  through  the  pages  o'fi 
history;  but  it  is  only  the  name  of  the  thinker 
of  great  thoughts,  the  poet  of  rare  gifts  that 
foreign  nations  and  after  generations  cherish. 
Like  Bacon,  Poe  might  have  left  his  "name 
to  the  next  ages  and  to  foreign  nations."  For 

27 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

his  fame  has  grown  steadily  since  his  tragical 
death,  not  only  in  his  own  land,  but  among 
"foreign  nations." 

It  should  be  mentioned  that  Poe  was  only 
twenty-six  years  old  when  he  was  made  editor 
of  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  and  that, 
in  less  than  two  years,  he  gave  it  a  command 
ing  position  among  American  magazines. 
Perhaps  no  similar  enterprise  ever  prospered 
so  largely  in  its  commencement,  and  none  in 
the  same  length  of  time — not  even  Blackwood, 
in  the  brilliant  days  of  Maginn,  ever  published 
so  many  dazzling  articles  from  the  same  pen. 
Strange  stories  of  the  German  school,  akin  to 
the  most  fanciful  legends  of  the  Rhine,  fasci 
nating  and  astonishing  the  reader  with  the 
verisimilitude  of  their  improbability,  appeared 
in  the  same  number  with  lyrics  plaintive  and 
wondrous  sweet,  the  earliest  vibrations  of 
those  chords  which  have  since  sounded  through 
the  world. 

In  January,  1837,  the  blood  of  the  wan 
derer,  which  he  derived  from  his  actress- 
mother,  drove  him  from  Richmond  to  New 
York,  in  which  city  Mrs.  Clemm  started  a 
boarding  house  on  Carmine  Street.  One  of 
the  few  boarders  was  William  Gowans,  the 
eminent  second-hand  bookseller,  who  has  left 

28 


oe  Cult 


an  interesting  account  of  Poe  at  that  time: 
"For  eight  months  or  more  'one  house  con 
tained  us,  as  one  table  fed/  During  that  time 
I  saw  much  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  and  had  an 
opportunity  of  conversing  with  him  often,  and, 
I  must  say  that,  I  never  saw  him  the  least  af 
fected  with  liquor,  nor  even  descend  to  any 
vice,  while  he  was  one  of  the  most  courteous, 
gentlemanly,  and  intelligent  companions  I  have 
met  with  during  my  journey  ings  and  haltings 
through  divers  divisions  of  the  globe;  beside, 
he  had  an  extra  inducement  to  be  a  -good  man 
as  well  as  a  good  husband,  for  he  had  a  wife  v/ 
of  matchless  beauty  and  loveliness;  her  eye  X 
could  match  that  of  any  houri,  and  her  face 
defy  the  genius  of  a  Canova  to  imitate;  a 
temper  and  a  disposition  of  surpassing  sweet 
ness;  besides,  she  seemed  as  much  devoted  to 
him  and  his  every  interest  as  a  young  mother 
to  her  first-born.  Poe  had  a  remarkably  pleas 
ing  and  prepossessing  countenance,  what  the 
ladies  would  call  decidedly  handsome." 

Poe's  object  in  removing  to  New  York,  at 
this  time,  was  because  he  thought  that  city 
offered  greater  advantages  to  a  professional 
man  of  letters  than  the  provincial  town  of 
Richmond.  He  was  promised  a  position  on  the 
New  York  Review,  but  that  periodical  was  al 
ready  in  the  throes  of  dissolution,  and  did  not 

29 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 

long  survive  the  financial  panic  of  1837.  Poe's 
only  contribution  to  it  was  an  elaborate  review 
of  Stephens'  "Incidents  of  Travel  in  Egypt, 
Arabia,  Petraea,  and  the  Holy  Land." 

In  the  number  of  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  which  announced  Poe's  retirement, 
Mr.  White  promised  that  he  would  "continue 
to  furnish  its  columns  from  time  to  time  with 
the  effusions  of  his  vigorous  and  powerful 
pen."  In  the  January  number  of  the  Mes 
senger,  1837,  which  was  the  last  under  Poe's 
editorship,  appeared  the  first  installment  of 
"The  Narrative  of  Arthur  Gordon  Pym," 
which  was  continued  in  the  February  number, 
and  afterward  published  in  book  form  in  New 
York  and  London.  As  usual  with  Poe's 
works,  it  attracted  more  attention  abroad  than 
at  home.  It  should  be  mentioned  that  he  never 
relinquished  his  early  interest  in  the  Mes 
senger,  but  wrote  for  it  as  long  as  he  lived.  As 
some  of  his  earliest,  so  some  of  his  latest,  writ 
ings  first  appeared  in  that  magazine. 

Poe's  first  residence  in  New  York  lasted 
from  the  winter  of  1837  to  the  summer  of 
1838,  when  he  removed  to  Philadelphia.  Soon 
after  his  arrival  in  the  Quaker  City,  he  was 
asked  by  his  old  friend,  Dr.  N.  C.  Brooks,  to 
write  the  leading  article  for  the  first  number 
of  The  American  Museum,  a  monthly  maga- 

30 


C&e  poe  Cult 


zine  about  to  be  started  in  Baltimore,  and  des 
tined  to  add  to  the  collection  of  dead  maga 
zines  for  which  that  city  enjoys  an  unenviable 
reputation ;  in  fact,  while  many  magazines  have 
been  born  and  died  in  the  Monumental  City,  it 
can  boast  of  no  living  monthly,  although  it 
boasts  of  a  population  of  600,000  inhabi 
tants. 

Dr.  Brooks  suggested  that  Poe  should  write 
an  article  on  Washington  Irving.  In  answer 
to  this  request,  Poe  wrote  a  letter  which  Pro 
fessor  Harrison  credits  to  an  Englishman  who 
claims  to  have  "discovered"  Poe,  but  he  did 
not  "discover"  this  letter,  for  I  saw  the  orig 
inal,  in  1873,  and  printed  it  in  my  first  "Life 
of  Poe,"  which  was  published  in  1876,  al 
though  the  book  was  dated  for  the  next  year. 
From  my  work,  the  Englishman  copied  the  let 
ter  into  his  Memoir,  which  was  not  published 
until  1880.  Poe  did  not  write  the  article  on 
Washington  Irving  for  Dr.  Brooks,  but  the 
first  number  of  the  American  Museum  con 
tained  "Ligeia,"  which  its  author  regarded  as 
his  best  story,  because  it  displays  the  highest 
range  of  imagination.  In  this  same  magazine 
he  published  his  clever  satirical  sketch,  "The 
Signora  Psyche  Zenobia,"  "Literary  Small 
Talk,"  and  the  dainty,  airy,  exquisite  "Haunted 
Palace."  A  Northern  critic,  who  is  not  over- 

31 


C&epoeCult 

favorable  to  Poe,  pronounces  "Ligeia"  a  story 
"as  faultless  as  humanity  can  fashion." 

Poe  had  several  homes  during  the  six  years 
that  he  lived  in  Philadelphia — from  1838  to 
1844 — but  he  resided  for  the  longest  time  at 
Spring  Garden,  then  a  suburb  of  the  city.  It 
was  there  that  Captain  Mayne  Reid  visited 
him,  and  wrote  a  most  delightful  description 
of  his  home  and  family.  The  house  was  small, 
but  furnished  with  much  taste ;  flowers  bloomed 
around  the  porch,  and  the  singing  of  birds  was 
heard.  It  was,  indeed,  the  very  home  for  a 
poet.  "In  this  humble  domicile,"  says  Mayne 
Reid,  "I  have  spent  some  of  the  pleasantest 
hours  of  my  life — certainly,  some  of  the  most 
intellectual.  They  were  passed  in  the  company 
of  the  poet  and  his  wife — a  lady  angelically 
beautiful  in  person,  and  not  less  beautiful  in 
spirit.  No  one  who  remembers  the  dark- 
haired,  dark-eyed  daughter  of  the  South — her 
face  so  exquisitely  lovely — her  gentle,  graceful 
demeanor — no  one  who  has  been  an  hour  in 
her  society,  but  will  indorse  what  I  have  said 
of  this  lady,  who  was  the  most  delicate  realiza 
tion  of  the  poet's  rarest  ideal.  But  the  bloom 
upon  her  cheek  was  too  pure,  too  bright  for 
earth.  It  was  consumption's  color — that  sadly 
beautiful  light  that  beckons  to  an  early  grave. 

"With  the  poet  and  his  wife  there  lived  an- 

32 


MARIA   CLEMM. 
From  her  last  photograph  from  life,  1868;  aged  seventy-eight  years. 


Cult 


other    person — Mrs.    Clemm.      She    was    the     ^ 
mother  of  Mrs.  Poe,  and  one  of  those  proud  \ 
Southern  women  who  have  inspired  the  song 
and  chivalry  of  their  beautiful  land.     Mrs.  4- 
Clemm  was  the  ever-vigilant  guardian  of  the 
house,  watching  over  the  comfort  of  her  two 
children,  keeping  everything  neat  and  clean, 
so  as  to  please  the  fastidious  eyes  of  the  poet- 
going  to  market,  and  bringing  home  little  deli 
cacies  that  their  limited  means  would  allow; 
going  to  editors  with  a  poem,  a  critique,  or  a 
story,  and  often  returning  without  the  much- 
needed  money." 

This  is  a  very  pleasing  glimpse  at  the  home 
life  of  our  poet,  and  all  the  more  valuable, 
coming  as  it  does,  spontaneously  from  a  for 
eigner.  Such  scenes  show  more  truly  a  man's 
real  character  than  volumes  of  human  analy 
sis.  I  shall  close  this  personal  description  of 
the  poet  with  some  particulars  which  Mrs.  — 
Clemm  furnished  me  toward  the  close  of  her 
life,  and  which  I  took  down  in  shorthand  at  the 
time:  "Eddie  had  no  idea  of  the  value  of 
money.  I  had  to  attend  to  all  his  pecuniary 
affairs.  I  even  bought  his  clothes  for  him ;  he 
never  bought  a  pair  of  gloves  or  a  cravat  for 
himself;  he  was  very  charitable,  and  would 
empty  his  pockets  to  a  beggar.  He  loved  Vir-  ^ 
ginia  with  a  tenderness  and  a  devotion  which 

33 


Cult 


no  words  can  express,  and  he  was  the  most 
affectionate  of  sons  to  me." 

Not  long  after  Poe's  removal  to  Phila 
delphia,  he  was  engaged  as  a  contributor  for 
The  Gentleman's  Magazine,  which  was  owned 
by  William  E.  Burton,  an  English  comedian, 
who  is  better  remembered  as  an  actor  than  as 
an  editor  and  publisher.  He  drew  immediate 
attention  to  the  magazine  by  his  powerful 
criticisms  and  strange,  fascinating  tales. 
Among  the  latter  was  "The  Fall  of  the  House 
of  Usher,"  which  is  regarded  by  most  readers 
as  Poe's  masterpiece  in  imaginative  fiction; 
but,  as  already  mentioned,  he  gave  that  pref 
erence  to  "Ligeia."  It  has  been  said  that  "both 
have  the  unquestionable  stamp  of  genius.  The 
analysis  of  the  growth  of  madness  in  one,  and 
the  thrilling  revelation  of  the  existence  of  a 
first  wife  in  the  person  of  a  second,  in  the 
other,  are  made  with  consummate  skill ;  and  the 
strange,  and  solemn  and  fascinating  beauty, 
which  informs  the  style,  and  invests  the  cir 
cumstances  of  both,  drugs  the  mind,  and  makes 
us  forget  the  improbabilities  of  their  general 
design/' 

So  well  pleased  was  Burton  with  Poe's  con 
tributions  to  The  Gentleman's  Magazine,  that, 
in  May,  1839,  he  made  him  its  editor.  The 

34 


C6e  poe  Cult 


pay  was  small — ten  dollars  a  week — a  paltry 
salary  for  a  man  of  Poe's  genius  and  reputa 
tion.  In  the  Autumn  of  1840,  Burton  sold  his 
magazine  to  George  R.  Graham,  owner  of 
The  Casket.  The  two  periodicals  were  merged 
into  one  under  the  name  of  Graham's  Maga 
zine,  with  Poe  as  its  editor.  In  two  years  he 
raised  the  circulation  from  5,000  to  50,000.  In 
the  April,  1841,  number  of  Graham's  ap 
peared  the  extraordinary,  analytical  story, 
"The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,"  which 
first  introduced  him  to  French  readers,  and, 
also,  made  his  name  known  to  the  French 
courts.  A  Paris  Bohemian,  having  come 
across  the  story,  dressed  it  up  to  suit  the  Pari 
sian  palate,  published  it  in  Le  Commerce,  as  an 
original  tale,  under  the  name  of  "L'Orang- 
otang."  Not  long  afterward,  another  French 
journal,  La  Quotidienne,  published  a  transla 
tion  of  the  story  under  another  name.  There 
upon  Le  Siecle  charged  La  Quotidienne  with 
having  stolen  said  feuilleton  from  one  previ 
ously  published  in  Le  Commerce.  This  led  to 
a  war  of  words  between  the  editors  of  La 
Quotidienne  and  Le  Siecle.  The  quarrel  be 
came  so  warm  that  it  was  taken  to  the  law 
courts  for  settlement,  where  the  aforesaid 
Bohemian  proved  that  he  had  stolen  the  story 
from  Monsieur  Edgar  Poe,  an  American 

35 


fte  poe  Cult 


writer.  It  was  shown  that  the  writer  in  La 
Quotidienne  was  himself  an  impudent  plagiar 
ist,  for  he  had  taken  Monsieur  Poe's  story 
without  a  word  of  acknowledgment ;  while  the 
editor  of  Le  Siecle  was  forced  to  admit  that 
not  only  had  he  never  read  any  of  Poe's  works, 
but  had  not  even  heard  of  him.  The  public 
attention  having  been  thus  directed  to  Poe, 
\  his  best  tales  were  translated  by  Madame  Isa- 
belle  Mennier,  and  published  in  several  French 
magazines.  The  leading  Parisian  journals 
showered  praises  upon  our  author  for  the  re 
markable  power  and  amazing  ingenuity  dis 
played  in  these  tales.  Many  years  afterward, 
Charles  Baudelaire,  having  thoroughly  imbued 
himself  with  the  spirit  of  Poe's  prose  writings, 
published  a  translation  of  them  in  five  vol 
umes.  Poe  is  the  only  American  author  who 
is  known,  or,  at  least,  popular,  in  France;  and 
that  he  is  known  there  is  due,  in  a  great  meas 
ure,  to  the  patient  industry  of  Baudelaire. 

"The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue"  was  fol 
lowed,  in  November,  1841,  by  "The  Mystery 
,.          of  Marie  Roget,"  in  which  the  scene  of  the 
\      murder  of  a  cigar  girl,  named  Mary  Rogers, 
in  the  vicinity  of  New  York,  wasTtransf erred 
to  Paris,  and,  by  a  wonderful  train  of  analyt 
ical  reasoning,  the  mystery  that  surrounded 
the  affair  was  completely  disentangled.  These, 

36 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

and  a  succeeding  story,  "The  Purloined  Let 
ter,"  are  the  most  ingenious  tales  of  ratiocina 
tion  in  the  English  language,  and  were  the 
foundation  of  the  modern  detective  story,  so 
successfully  carried  out  by  Conan  Doyle,  the 
creator  of  "Sherlock  Holmes/'  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  and  others,  who  have  frankly  ad 
mitted  their  indebtedness  to  Poe.  It  will  be 
interesting  to  know  that  Monsieur  G—  — ,  the 
Prefect  of  the  Parisian  police,  who  is  men 
tioned  in  these  stories,  was  Monsieur  Grisquet, 
for  many  years  Chief  of  the  Paris  Police,  who 
died  in  February,  1866. 

The  most  extraordinary  of  Poe's  successful 
efforts  at  ratiocination  was  that  in  which  he 
pointed  out  what  must  be  the  plot  of  Dickens' 
celebrated  novel,  "Barnaby  Rudge,"  when  only 
the  beginning  of  the  story  had  been  published. 
In  the  Philadelphia  Saturday  Evening  Post  of 
May  i,  1841,  Poe  printed  what  he  called  "a 
prospective  notice"  of  the  novel,  in  which  he 
used  the  following  words: 

"That  Barnaby  is  the  son  of  the  murdered 
man  may  not  appear  evident  to  our  readers; 
but  we  will  explain:  The  person  murdered  is 
Mr.  Reuben  Haredale.  His  steward  (Mr. 
Rudge,  Senior),  and  his  gardener,  are  miss 
ing.  At  first  both  are  suspected.  'Some 
months  afterward/  in  the  language  of  the 

37 


Cl)e  Poe  Cult 


story,  'the  steward's  body,  scarcely  to  be  recog 
nized,  but  by  his  clothes  and  the  watch  and 
the  ring  he  wore,  was  found  at  the  bottom  of 
a  piece  of  water  in  the  grounds,  with  a  deep 
gash  in  the  breast,  where  he  has  been  stabbed 
by  a  knife/  etc.,  etc. 

"Now,  be  it  observed,  it  is  not  the  author 
himself  who  asserts  that  the  steward's  body 
was  found;  he  has  put  the  words  in  the  mouth 
of  one  of  his  characters.  His  design  is  to 
make  it  appear  in  the  denouement  that  the 
steward,  Rudge,  first  murdered  the  gardener, 
then  went  to  his  master's  chamber,  murdered 
him,  was  interrupted  by  his  (Rudge's)  wife, 
whom  he  seized  and  held  by  the  wrist,  to  pre 
vent  her  giving  the  alarm,  that  he  then,  after 
possessing  himself  of  the  booty  desired,  re 
turned  to  the  gardener's  room,  exchanged 
clothes  with  him,  put  upon  the  corpse  his  own 
watch  and  ring,  and  secreted  it  where  it  was 
afterward  discovered  at  so  late  a  period  that 
the  features  could  not  be  identified." 

Readers  who  are  familiar  with  the  plot  of 
"Barnaby  Rudge,"  will  perceive  that  the  dif 
ferences  between  Poe's  preconceived  ideas  and 
the  actual  facts  of  the  story  are  immaterial. 
Dickens  expressed  his  admiring  appreciation 
of  Poe's  analysis  of  "Barnaby  Rudge."  He 
would  not  have  expressed  the  same  apprecia- 

38 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

tion  of  Poe's  opinion  of  him,  when  reviewing 
the  completed  novel.  At  the  time  when  Charles 
Dickens  was  the  most  popular  writer  in  the 
world,  Edgar  Poe  (who  could  never  be  made 
to  bow  his  supreme  intellect  to  any  idol) 
boldly  declared  that  he  "failed  peculiarly  in 
pure  narrative,"  pointing  out,  at  the  same 
time,  several  grammatical  mistakes  of  the 
great  Boz.  He  also  showed  that  Dickens  occa 
sionally  lapsed  into  a  gross  imitation  of  what 
itself  is  a  gross  imitation — the  manner  of 
Charles  Lamb — a  manner  based  in  the  Latin 
construction.  He  further  showed  that  Dick- 
ens's  great  success  as  a  novelist  consisted  in 
the  delineation  of  character,  and  that  those 
characters  were  grossly  exaggerated  carica 
tures — all  of  which  is  now  admitted  by  judic 
ious  readers;  but  it  required  considerable 
courage  to  announce  such  an  opinion  at  the 
time  when  Poe  proclaimed  it  at  the  height  of 
Dickens's  popularity.  When  Dickens  visited 
the  United  States  in  1842,  Poe  had  two  long 
interviews  with  him.  He  made  a  lasting  im 
pression  upon  the  impressible  Boz,  and  when 
he  made  his  last  visit  to  this  country  in  1867-8, 
he  called  upon  Mrs.  Clemm,  in  Baltimore,  and 
presented  her  with  $150.00. 

Poe's  restless  spirit  grew  tired  of  the  "end 
less  toil"  of  the  editorial  work  on  Graham's 

39 


Cfte  Poe  Cu It 

Magazine,  and  he  endeavored  to  obtain  more 
certain  and  more  remunerative  employment. 
His  intimate  friend  and  lifetime  correspond 
ent,  F.  W.  Thomas,  of  Baltimore,  author  of 
"Clinton  Bradshaw,"  "East  and  West,"  and 
other  novels  of  some  repute  sixty  or  seventy 
years  ago,  had  obtained  a  Government  clerk 
ship  in  one  of  the  Departments  in  Washing 
ton.  In  1842,  Poe  wrote  to  Thomas,  express 
ing  a  wish  to  get  a  similar  position,  saying 
that  he  "would  be  glad  to  get  almost  any  ap 
pointment — even  a  five  hundred  dollar  clerk 
ship — so  that  I  have  something  independent  of 
letters  for  a  subsistence.  To  coin  one's  brain 
into  silver,  at  the  nod  of  a  master,  is,  I  am 
thinking,  the  hardest  task  in  the  world."  At 
the  conclusion  of  his  letter,  he  says  he  hopes 
some  day  to  have  a  "beautiful  little  cottage, 
completely  buried  in  vines  and  flowers."  How 
fortunately  for  the  world  that  Edgar  Poe  did 
not  secure  "even  a  five  hundred  dollar  clerk 
ship  !"  Had  he  settled  down  to  the  dull  routine 
of  official  life  in  Washington,  he  would  prob 
ably  not  have  written  "The  Raven,"  "Eureka," 
"The  Literati  of  New  York,"  "Ulalume," 
"The  Bells,"  and  other  productions  that 
form  an  imperishable  portion  of  American 
literature. 

About  a  year  after  Poe  removed  to  Phila- 
40 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


delphia,  he  collected  his  stories,  including 
"Ligeia,"  "The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher," 
"The  Ms.  Found  in  a  Bottle,  "Morella,"  "The 
Assignation,"  and  others  less  known,  and  pub 
lished  them,  in  1840,  under  the  title  of  "Tales 
of  the  Grotesque  and  Arabesque."  The  edition 
was  small,  and  small  was  the  notice  it  re 
ceived  from  the  press  and  the  public.  The 
publishers  allowed  Poe  no  remuneration  for 
this  first  edition  of  his  Prose  Tales,  and  gave 
him  only  twenty  copies  for  distribution.  Two 
years  after  the  book  was  issued,  he  was  in 
formed  that  the  edition  was  not  all  sold,  and 
that  it  had  not  paid  expenses.  Yet,  within 
a  few  years,  this  same  edition  of  these  same 
tales  has  sold  at  a  fabulous  price  at  the  book 
auctions  in  New  York. 

During  his  early  residence  in  Philadelphia, 
Poe  edited  a  work  on  Conchology  which  caused 
some  controversy  at  the  time,  of  little  interest 
then,  and  of  no  interest  now. 

Although  Poe's  own  countrymen  were 
slow  to  recognize  his  genius,  he  was  quick  in 
recognizing  the  genius  of  others,  and  in  be 
stowing  generous  praise  upon  all  deserving 
contemporaries.  He  was  the  first  American 
critic  to  proclaim  the  genius  of  Mrs.  Brown 
ing  (then  Miss  Barrett)  to  the  world;  and 
when  he  collected  his  poems  into  a  volume,  the 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

book  was  dedicated  to  her,  as  "To  the  noblest 
of  her  sex,  with  the  most  enthusiastic  admira 
tion,  and  with  the  most  sincere  esteem/'  He 
was  the  first  to  introduce  to  American  readers 
the  then  unknown  poet,  Tennyson,  and  boldly 
declared  him  to  be  "The  noblest  poet  that  ever 
lived,"  at  a  time  when  the  English  critics  had 
failed  to  discover  the  genius  of  the  future 
Poet-Laureate.  He  discovered  the  morbid 
genius  of  Hawthorne,  when  the  latter  was,  as 
he  said  of  himself,  "the  most  obscure  literary 
man  in  America."  Poe's  estimate  of  Willis, 
Halleck,  Cooper,  Simms,  Longfellow,  and 
other  contemporaries,  was  eminently  just.  He 
placed  the  last  the  first  among  American 
poets;  the  position  which  Poe  himself  now 
holds,  in  the  opinion  of  the  leading  scholars  of 
England,  France  and  Germany.  It  should  be 
added  that  he  qualified  this  praise  of  Long 
fellow  by  declaring  that  he  was  over-rated  as 
an  original  poet. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stredman,  who  had  only 
a  half-hearted  appreciation  of  Poe,  was  honest 
enough  to  say  that  he  "was  a  critic  of  ex 
ceptionable  ability,"  and  agreed  with  James 
Russell  Lowell  that  "his  more  dispassionate 
judgments  have  all  been  justified  by  time," 
and  that  he  "was  a  master  in  his  own  chosen 
field"  of  poetry.  It  has  been  well  and  truly 

42 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


said  by  an  unknown  writer  in  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  of  April,  1896,  in  an  article  on  "The 
New  Poe,"  that  until  "we  have  a  critic  of  the 
History  of  the  Intellectual  Development  of  this 
Country  during  the  iQth  Century,  ...  it 
is  impossible  to  form  any  conclusions  in  regard 
to  Poe  that  can  be  considered  final."  Charles 
Leonard  Moore,  in  a  carefully  written  article 
in  the  Chicago  Dial  of  February  16,  1903,  pays 
a  just  tribute  to  Poe's  critical  powers  when 
he  says:  "Undoubtedly,  Poe  performed  one 
of  the  most  difficult  feats  of  criticism.  With 
almost  unerring  instinct,  he  separated  the* 
wheat  from  the  chaff  of  his  contemporary 
literature."  In  this  same  article,  Mr.  Moore 
declares  that  "Poe  is  the  most  sublime  poet 
since  Milton — a  sublimity  which  stirs  even  in 
his  most  grotesque  and  fanciful  sketch.  It 
rears  full-fronted  in  the  concluding  pages  of 
the  'Narrative  of  A.  Gordon  Pym/  It  thrills 
us  in  the  many-colored  chambers  of  'The 
Mask  of  the  Red  Death/  It  overwhelms  us 
with  horror  in  'The  Murders  of  the  Rue 
Morgue/  It  is  sublime  and  awe-inspiring  in 
'Ligeia/  'The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher/  in 
'Ulalume/  and  'The  Raven/  He  reaches  a 
climax  of  almost  too  profound  thought  in  'The 
Colloquy  of  Monos  and  Una/  'The  Power  of 
Words/  and  'Eureka/  His  sublimity  ac- 

43 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


counts  for  his  fate  with  the  American  public. 
A  true  Democracy,  it  abhors  greatness  and 
ridicules  sublimity/'  Mr.  Moore  says,  fur 
ther:  "The  total  effect  of  his  work  is  lofty 
and  noble.  His  men  are  all  brave  and  his 
women  are  pure.  He  is  the  least  vulgar  of 
mortals.  In  every  land  which  boasts  of  literary 
culture,  or  civil  enlightenment,  Poe's  poems 
and  tales  are  read,  and  he  is  regarded  as  a 
distinctive  genius." 

The  first  four  years  of  Poe's  residence  in 
Philadelphia — 1838-42 — were  the  most  prod 
uctive  of  his  literary  life.  These  four  years 
show  the  most  extraordinary  amount  of  first- 
class  literary  work  that  has  even  been  ac 
complished  in  this  country  in  the  same  space 
of  time.  Unfortunately,  the  author  of  all  of 
this  fine,  artistic  work  received  only  a  pittance 
as  his  pecuniary  reward.  All  this  time  he  was 
poor — desperately  poor — and  in  the  last  of 
these  four  years  of  surpassing  achievements, 
a  great  affliction  came  upon  him — his  wife— 
his  idolized  Virginia — broke  a  blood-vessel  in 
singing.  From  that  hour  until  her  death,  five 
years  afterwards,  the  delicate  condition  of  his 
wife's  health  was  a  constant  source  of  care 
and  anxiety  to  the  devoted  husband.  While 
struggling  against  poverty,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  disheartening  surroundings,  his 

44 


Cbe  poe  Cult 

wonderful  imagination  filled  his  soul  writh 
dreams  of  princely  palaces  and  royal  gardens, 
in  which  lived  and  moved  forms  of  more  than 
earthly  beauty. 

Friends  and  foes  alike  agree  in  testifying  to 
Poe's  tender  devotion  to  his  darling  wife,  "in 
sickness  and  in  health."  The  most  unrelenting 
of  his  enemies  mentions  having  been  sent  for 
to  visit  him  "during  a  period  of  illness,  caused 
by  protracted  and  anxious  watching  at  the  side  y 
of  his  sick  wife."  George  R.  Graham,  in  a 
generous  defense  of  the  dead  poet,  said,  "I 
shall  never  forget  how  solicitous  of  the  happi 
ness  of  his  wife  and  mother-in-law  he  was, 
whilst  editor  of  Graham's  Magazine.  His 
whole  efforts  seemed  to  be  to  procure  the  com 
fort  and  welfare  of  his  home.  .  .  .  His 
love  for  his  wife  was  a  sort  of  rapturous  wor 
ship  of  the  spirit  of  beauty  which  he  felt  was 
fading  before  his  eyes.  I  have  seen  him  hover-  , 
ing  over  her,  when  she  was  ill,  with  all  the  \ 
fond  fear  and  tender  anxiety  of  a  mother  for 
her  first-born;  her  slightest  cough  causing  in 
him  a  shudder,  a  heart-chill  that  was  visible.  I 
rode  out  one  summer  evening  with  them,  and 
remembrance  of  his  watchful  eyes,  eagerly 
bent  upon  the  slightest  change  of  hue  in  that 
loved  face,  haunts  me  yet  as  the  memory  of  a 
sad  strain.  It  was  this  hourly  anticipation  of 

45 


\ 


Cfie  poe  Cult 

her  loss  that  made  him  a  sad  and  thoughtful 
man,  and  lent  an  undying  melody  to  his  undy 
ing  song." 

In  the  spring  of  1842,  Poe  retired  from 
Graham's  Magazine.  His  reputation  as  the 
most  brilliant  editor  in  America;  his  fame  as  a 
poet  and  as  a  writer  of  purely  imaginative 
tales,  and  his  success  in  making  Graham's 
Magazine  the  most  profitable  in  the  United 
States,  made  him  feel  the  very  natural  am 
bition  of  having  a  magazine  of  his  own — a 
magazine  in  which  he  would  be  perfectly  un- 
trammeled,  entirely  free  from  the  control  of 
timid  publishers.  With  this  object,  he  issued 
the  prospectus  of  a  magazine  to  be  called  The 
Stylus.  Contributors  and  illustrators  were  en 
gaged;  the  day  was  fixed  for  the  appearance 
of  the  first  number;  everything  was  ready  but 
the  most  important  thing  of  all — the  money 
to  publish  it.  So  the  enterprise  was  tempor 
arily  abandoned,  to  be  taken  up  again  and 
again  until  the  close  of  Poe's  life. 

In  1843  ne  won  tne  hundred  dollar  prize  of 
fered  by  the  Dollar  Magazine,  of  Philadelphia, 
for  the  best  short  story.  It  was  one  of  his 
most  popular  tales,  "The  Gold  Bug/'  which 
gained  this  prize.  It  is  founded  on  the  dis 
covery  of  the  supposed  buried  treasure  of  Cap 
tain  Kyd.  The  story  displays  a  remarkable 

46 


ult 


illustration  of  Poe's  theory  that  human  in 
genuity  can  construct  no  enigma  which  the 
human  mind,  by  proper  application,  cannot 
solve.  The  chief  interest  centres  on  the  solu 
tion  of  an  abstruse  cryptogram. 

This  one  hundred  dollar  prize  came  when 
Poe  was  much  in  need  of  money,  for  after 
leaving  Graham's  Magazine,  he  was  without 
any  regular  work  during  the  rest  of  his  stay 
in  Philadelphia.  He  wrote  for  James  Russell 
Lowell's  short-lived  magazine,  The  Pioneer, 
and  some  notable  reviews  for  Graham's  Maga 
zine.  After  the  issue  of  three  numbers,  The 
Pioneer  was  discontinued,  and  Lowell  was 
very  much  distrest  because  he  could  not  pay 
his  contributors,  among  them  Poe,  who,  al 
though  wanting  the  money,  wrote  to  the  un 
fortunate  editor:  "As  for  the  few  dollars 
you  owe  me  ($35.00),  give  yourself  not  one 
moment's  concern  about  them.  I  am  poor,  but 
must  be  much  poorer,  indeed,  when  I  even 
think  of  demanding  them."  Lowell  requited 
Poe's  generosity  very  ungratefully,  when,  in 
A  Fable  for  the  Critics,  he  thus  characterized 
his  former  friend: 

''There  comes  Poe  with  his  Raven,  like  Barnaby  Rudge 
Three-fifth  of  him  genius  and  two-fifth  sheer  fudge  — 


47 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

Who  has  written  some  things  quite  the  best  of  their 

kind, 
But  the  heart  somehow  seems  all  squeezed  out  by  the 

mind." 

Poe  showed  a  great  deal  of  "heart"  when 
he  refused  to  ask  Lowell  for  money  due  him 
for  his  contributions  to  The  Pioneer.  In  re 
turn  for  Lowell's  base  ingratitude,  Poe  de 
nounced  him  as  "one  of  the  most  rabid  of  the 
Abolition  fanatics — a  fanatic  simply  for  the 
sake  of  fanaticism." 

In  April,  1844,  Poe  again  removed  to  New 
York,  hoping  to  find  a  better  field  for  his 
literary  work  than  Philadelphia  had  proved 
since  he  retired  from  Graham's  Magazine.  On 
Saturday,  April  13,  within  a  week  after  his 
arrival  in  New  York,  the  Sun,  of  that  city, 
published  his  famous  "Balloon  Hoax."  In  this 
extraordinary  narrative,  Poe  anticipated  the 
wonderful  achievements  of  the  twentieth  cen 
tury  in  crossing  the  Atlantic.  It  created  an  im 
mense  sensation  at  the  time.  In  the  same 
month,  "A  Tale  of  the  Ragged  Mountains" 
was  published  in  Godey's  Lady's  Book,  and,  in 
June,  his  poem,  "Dreamland,"  in  Graham's 
Magazine. 

In  the  spring  of  1844,  Poe  resumed  his  cor 
respondence  with  James  Russell  Lowell.  From 

48 


Cult 


the  first  of  these  letters,  dated  May  24,  1844, 
we  learn  that  six  of  his  stories  were  in  the 
hands  of  different  editors  waiting  publication. 
Poe  was  an  industrious,  painstaking,  fascinat 
ing  writer;  he  was  known  as  the  author  of 
some  of  the  best  short  stories  that  had  ever 
been  published  in  an  American  magazine  yet, 
after  ten  years  of  unceasing  work,  he  could 
not  find  a  ready  market  for  his  writings,  and 
when  published,  he  received  a  wretched  re 
muneration  for  the  highest  kind  of  imagina 
tive  prose — compositions  that  have  taken  a 
front  rank  in  the  literature  of  the  world. 

In  October,  1844,  Poe  was  engaged  by  N.  P. 
Willis  as  assistant  on  the  Evening  Mirror. 
For  a  small  weekly  salary,  the  greatest  Ameri 
can  writer  was  obliged  to  drudge  seven  hours 
in  a  corner  of  the  Evening  Mirror  office — from 
nine  to  four — ''ready  to  be  called  upon  for  any 
of  the  miscellaneous  work  of  the  day."  Willis 
furnishes  the  following  tribute  to  his  gifted 
"assistant" :  "With  the  highest  admiration 
for  his  genius,  and  a  willingness  to  let  it  atone 
for  more  than  ordinary  irregularity,  we  were 
led  by  common  report  to  expect  a  very  ca 
pricious  attention  to  his  duties,  and,  occa 
sionally,  a  scene  of  violence  and  difficulty. 
Time  went  on,  however,  and  he  was  invariably 
punctual  and  industrious:  With  his  pale, 

49 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

beautiful,  intellectual  face,  as  a  reminder  of 
what  genius  was  in  him,  it  was  impossible,  of 
course,  not  to  treat  him  with  deferential 
courtesy,  and,  to  our  occasional  request  that 
he  would  not  probe  too  deep  in  a  criticism,  or 
that  he  would  erase  a  passage  colored  too 
deeply  with  his  resentments  against  society  and 
mankind,  he  readily  and  courteously  assented 
—far  more  yielding  than  most  men,  we 
thought,  on  points  so  excusably  sensitive.  With 
a  prospect  of  taking  the  lead  in  another 
periodical,  he,  at  last,  voluntarily  gave  up  his 
employment  with  us,  and,  through  all  this  con 
siderable  period,  we  had  seen  but  one  present 
ment  of  the  man — a  quiet,  patient,  industrious, 
and  most  gentlemanly  person,  commanding  the 
utmost  respect  and  good  feeling  by  his  un- 
varing  deportment  and  ability." 

The  other  periodical,  in  which  he  was  "to 
take  the  lead,"  was  The  Broadway  Journal,  a 
weekly  paper  which  had  been  started  in  New 
York  in  January,  1845.  ^n  March,  of  that 
year,  Poe  became  associate  editor  and  one-third 
owner.  In  July,  when  the  paper  was  slowly 
dying,  Poe  became  its  sole  editor.  Looking 
over  the  volumes  of  the  Broadway  Journal,  I 
was  astonished  to  see  so  many  highly  finished 
articles  from  his  pen,  at  the  very  time,  too, 
when  his  adored  wife  was  ill,  almost  dying,  and 

50 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

when   he    himself    was    in   poor    health,    and 
harassed  by  cares  and  troubles  of  all  kinds. 

While  Poe  was  still  working  for  N.  P. 
Willis  as  assistant  on  the  Evening  Mirror,  he 
electrified  the  world  by  the  publication  of  The 
Raven.  This  famous  poem  was  originally  pub 
lished  in  T^he  American  Review — a  New  York 
Whig  Journal  of  Politics,  Literature,  Art,  and 
Science — in  the  number  for  February,  1845. 
It  has  been  truly  said  that  the  first  perusal 
of  The  Raven  leaves  no  distinct  impression 
upon  the  mind,  but  fascinates  the  reader  with 
a  strange  and  thrilling  interest.  It  produces 
upon  the  mind  and  heart  a  vague  impression  \ 
of  fate,  of  mystery,  of  hopeless  sorrow.  It  /f 
sounds  like  the  utterance  of  a  full  heart,  poured 
out — not  for  the  sake  of  telling  its  own  sad 
story  to  a  sympathetic  ear — but  because  he  is 
mastered  by  his  emotions,  and  cannot  help 
giving  vent  to  them.  It  more  resembles  the 
soliloquies  of  Hamlet,  in  which  he  betrays  his 
struggling  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  in  which 
he  reveals  the  workings  of  his  soul,  stirred  to 
its  utmost  depth  by  his  terrible  forebodings. 

Dr.  Henry  E.  Shepherd,  the  distinguished 
Southern  scholar,  critic,  and  educationalist, 
has  furnished  the  most  admirable  study  of  The 
Raven  that  has  ever  been  written.  After  as 
signing  to  Poe  a  place  in  that  illustrious  pro- 
Si 


C&e  poe  Cult 


cession  of  classical  poets,  which  includes  Mil 
ton,  Ben  Johnson,  Herrick,  Shelley  and  Keats, 
he  says  of  The  Raven:  "No  poem  in  our 
language  presents  a  more  graceful  grouping 
of  metrical  appliances  and  devices.  The  power 
of  peculiar  letters  is  evolved  with  a  magnifi 
cent  touch;  the  thrill  of  the  liquids  is  a  char 
acteristic  feature,  not  only  of  the  refrain,  but 
throughout  the  compass  of  the  poem;  their 
'Linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out/  falls  with  a 
mellow  cadence,  revealing  the  poet's  mastery 
of  those  mysterious  harmonies  which  lie  at  the 
basis  of  human  speech.  The  continuity  of  the 
rhythm,  illustrating  Milton's  ideal  of  true 
musical  delight,  in  which  the  sense  is  variously 
drawn  out  from  one  verse  into  another;  the 
alliteration  of  the  Norse  minstrel  and  the 
Saxon  bard;  the  graphic  delineation  and  the 
sustained  interest,  are  some  of  the  features 
which  place  The  Raven  foremost  among  the 
creations  of  a  poetic  art  in  our  age  and  clime." 
Dr.  Shepherd,  continuing  his  beautiful  ad 
dress,  proceeded  to  show  "the  versatile  char 
acter  of  Poe's  genius,  the  consummate,  as  well 
as  the  conscious,  art  of  his  poetry,  the  grace 
ful  blending  of  the  creative  and  the  critical 
faculty — a  combination  perhaps  the  rarest  that 
the  history  of  literature  affords — his  want  of 
a  deference  to  prototypes  or  models,  the  chaste 

52 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

and  scholarly  elegance  of  his  diction,  the  Attic 
smoothness  and  the  Celtic  magic  of  his 
style  .  .  .  Much  of  his  work  will  perish 
only  with  the  English  language.  His  riper 
productions  have  received  the  most  enthusias 
tic  tributes  from  the  sober  and  dispassionate 
critics  of  the  Old  World.  I  shall  ever  remem 
ber  the  thrill  of  grateful  appreciation  with 
which  I  read  the  splendid  eulogium  upon  the 
genius  of  Poe  in  The  London  Quarterly  Re- 
view,  in  which  he  is  ranked  far  above  his  con 
temporaries,  and  pronounced  one  of  the  most 
consummate  literary  artists  of  our  era,  poten 
tially  the  greatest  critic  that  ever  lived,  and 
possessing  perhaps  the  finest  ear  for  rhythm 
that  was  ever  formed.  You  are  doubtless  fa 
miliar  with  the  impressions  produced  by  The 
Raven  upon  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Browning,  who 
has  been  called  'Shakespeare's  daughter  and 
Tennyson's  sister/  It  was  but  recently  that 
one  of  the  master  spirits  of  the  new  poetic 
school  has  accorded  to  Poe  the  pre-eminence 
among  American  poets.  Alfred  Tennyson  has 
expressed  his  admiration  of  our  poet,  who, 
with  true  poetic  ken,  was  among  the  first  to 
appreciate  the  novelty  and  delicacy  of  his 
method,  and  who,  at  a  time  when  the 
Laureate's  fame  was  obscured  by  adverse  and 
undiscerning  criticism,  plainly  foretold  the 

53 


Cf)e  Poe  Cult 


serene  splendor  of  his  matured  greatness.'" 
The  address  of  Dr.  Shepherd  was  delivered 
upon  the  occasion  of  the  unveiling-  of  the  Poe 
Monument  in  Baltimore  on  the  I7th  of  Novem 
ber,  1875.  He  concluded  his  remarks  in  the 
following  lofty  language:  "This  graceful 
marble,  fit  emblem  of  our  poet,  is  the  expres 
sion — perhaps  unconscious,  undesigned,  but 
none  the  less  effective,  of  sympathy  with  this 
grand  intellectual  movement  of  our  era.  While 
we  pay  the  last  tributes  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  him  who  alone  was  worthy,  among 
American  poets,  to  be  ranked  in  that  illustrious 
procession  of  bards  around  whose  names  is 
concentrated  so  much  of  the  glory  of  the  Eng 
lish  tongue,  from  Chaucer  to  Tennyson,  let  us 
cherish  the  admonition  to  nurture  and  stimu 
late  the  poetry  of  our  land,  until  it  ascend, 
'with  no  middle  flight/  into  the  'brightest 
heaven  of  invention/  and  the  region  of  the 
purest  phantasy." 

Poe's  own  account  of  the  composition  of 
The  Raven  is  one  of  the  strangest  revelations 
that  any  author  has  ever  given  to  the  world; 
indeed,  it  would  be  incredible  if  told  by  any 
other  person  than  the  poet  himself.  Setting 
out  with  the  intention  of  composing  a  poem 
that  should  suit  at  once  the  popular  and  the 
critical  taste,  and  keeping  originality  always 

54 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


in  view,  the  work  proceeded,  says  Poe,  step 
by  step  until  its  completion,  with  the  precision 
and  rigid  consequences  of  a  mathematical 
problem.  One  of  Poe's  peculiar  theories  be 
ing  that  a  long  poem  does  not  and  cannot  exist, 
he  limited  his  poem  to  one  hundred  and  eight 
lines.  He  next  considered  the  impression,  or 
effort,  to  be  produced,  and  he  declares  that  he 
kept  steadily  in  view  the  design  of  rendering 
the  work  universally  appreciable.  Regarding 
beauty  as  the  only  legitimate  province  of 
poetry,  and  sadness  as  the  highest  manifesta- 
tion  of  its  tone,  he  selected  the  idea  of  a  lover 
lamenting  the  death  of  his  beautiful  beloved  as 
the  grand  work  of  the  poem.  He  then  be 
thought  himself  of  some  keynote,  some  pivot, 
upon  which  the  whole  structure  might  turn, 
and  decided  upon  the  refrain;  determining  to 
produce  continuously  novel  effects  by  the  varia 
tion  of  the  application  of  the  refrain,  the  re 
frain  itself  remaining,  for  the  most  part,  un 
varied.  The  next  thing  in  order  was  to  select 
a  word  which  would  be  in  the  fullest  possible 
keeping  with  the  melancholy  tone  of  the  poem. 
The  word  "nevermore"  was  the  very  first  that 
presented  itself.  Then  it  was  necessary  to 
have  some  pretext  for  the  repetition  of  the 
one  word,  "nevermore."  The  poet  says  he  saw 
at  once  that  it  would  not  do  to  put  the  monot- 

55 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


onous  word  into  the  mouth  of  a  hitman  being. 
Immediately,  the  idea  arose  of  a  non-reason 
ing  creature  capable  of  speech,  and  very 
naturally  a  parrot,  in  the  first  instance,  sug 
gested  itself;  but  was  superseded  forthwith 
by  a  raven,  as  infinitely  more  in  keeping  with 
the  intended  melancholy  tone. 

Having  then  decided  upon  the  rhythm  of 
the  poem,  the  next  point  to  be  considered  was 
the  mode  of  bringing  together  the  lover  and 
the  raven.  The  poet  determined  to  place  the 
lover  in  the  chamber  rendered  sacred  by 
memories  of  her  who  had  frequented  it.  The 
bird  was  next  to  be  introduced.  The  night 
was  made  tempestuous,  to  account  for  the 
raven's  seeking  admission,  and  also  for  the 
effect  of  contrast  with  the  physical  serenity 
within  the  chamber.  The  bird  was  made  to 
alight  on  the  bust  of  Pallas,  also,  for  the  effect 
of  contrast  between  the  marble  and  the 
plumage,  the  bust  of  Pallas  being  chosen  as 
most  in  keeping  with  the  scholarship  of  the 
lover.  The  poem  then  proceeds,  in  mournful 
but  melodious  numbers,  to  the  denouement, 
when  we  are  told  the  soul  of  the  unhappy 
poet,  from  out  the  shadow  of  the  raven,  that 
lies  floating  on  the  floor,  shall  be  lifted  never 
more. 

This  is  a  mere  outline  of   Poe's  masterly 

56 


C&e  poe  Cult 

analysis  of  his  most  extraordinary  poem.  The 
world  should  be  grateful  to  the  poet  for  his 
"confidential  disclosures"  in  regard  to  The 
Raven.  With  what  delight  would  the  world 
have  welcomed  Shakespeare's  own  account  of 
the  conception  and  composition  of  "Lear,"  of 
"Macbeth,"  of  "Hamlet" ! 

Of  all  the  writers  of  his  time,  Poe  was  the 
only  one  who  could  not  have  been  foreseen. 
This  of  itself  shows  the  originality  of  his 
work,  and  the  strong,  distinct  individuality  of 
his  genius,  which  has  given  him  a  high  place, 
not  only  in  the  literature  of  America,  but  in 
the  literature  of  the  world.  The  quantity  of 
Poe's  poetry  is  small,  but,  as  has  been  said  of 
it  by  a  judicious  critic,  "its  quality  is  perfect." 

The  Raven  established  Poe's  fame  as  the 
most  original,  the  most  remarkable  of  Ameri 
can  poets.  The  Edinburgh  Review,  in  a  harsh 
article,  was  forced  to  admit  that,  "The 
Raven  has  taken  rank  all  over  the  world  as 
the  very  first  poem  yet  produced  on  the  Ameri 
can  Continent."  The  poem  has  been  trans 
lated  into  most  of  the  modern  and  several  of 
the  ancient  languages.  Stephen  Mallarme 
translated  and  published,  in  Paris,  a  superbly 
illustrated  edition  of  The  Raven,  in  1876.  He 
sent  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman  a  copy  of  the 
volume,  with  a  highly  appreciative  letter,  from 

57 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

which  I  was  permitted  to  make  the  following 
extracts : 

"Whatever  is  done  to  honor  the  memory  of 
a  genius  the  most  truly  sublime  the  world  has 
ever  seen,  ought  it  not  first  to  obtain  your 
sanction?  Such  of  Poe's  works  as  our  great 
Baudelaire  has  left  untranslated,  this  is  to  say, 
the  poems,  and  many  of  the  critical  fragments, 
I  hope  to  make  known  to  France,  and  my  first 
attempt  (The  Raven)  is  intended  to  attract 
attention  to  a  future  work,  now  nearly  com 
pleted.  .  .  .  Fascinated  with  the  works 
of  Poe  from  my  infancy,  it  is  already  a  very 
long  time  since  your  name  became  associated 
with  his  in  my  earliest  and  most  intimate 
sympathies."  In  a  letter  addressed  to  one  of 
his  relatives  in  Baltimore,  a  few  months  after 
the  publication  of  The  Raven,  Edgar  Poe  al 
ludes,  with  just  pride,  to  the  renown  which 
his  poetical  reputation  had  conferred  upon  the 
family  name.  A  writer  in  the  Southern  Liter 
ary  Messenger  declared  with  equal  truth  and 
beauty,  that  on  the  dusky  wings  of  The  Raven, 
Edgar  A.  Poe  will  sail  securely  over  the  gulf 
of  oblivion  to  the  eternal  shore.  So  much  in 
terest  has  this  immortal  poem  created  in  the 
world  of  letters,  that  it  has  caused  a  litera 
ture  of  its  own  to  be  written. 

In  the  winter  of  1845-6,  the  literary  repu- 

58 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


tation   of   Edgar    A.    Poe    had    attained    its 
greatest   brilliancy.      A   cousin   of   the   poet, 
Judge  Neilson  Poe,  of  Baltimore,  told  me  that 
he  visited  him  during  that  time,  and  Edgar,     / 
Virginia,  and  Mrs.  Clemm  formed  the  hap-  /\ 
piest  little  family  he  had  ever  seen.     Edgar 
was  sick  at  the  time  of  the  visit,  and  the  visi 
tor  was  invited  to  his  chamber.    He  found  the\ 
poet  reclining  on  a  lounge,  with  Mrs.  Clemm  ] 
and  Virginia  in  attendance  upon  him.    A  small 
table  by  his  side  held  three  or  four  books,  a/ 
bouquet  of  sweet  flowers,  and  some  delicacies^ 
Mrs.  Osgood  and  other  ladies  called.     Edgar 
Poe,  lying  sick  upon  his  lounge,  was  the  centre  I 
of  attraction.    The  conversation,  in  such  com/ 
pany,  naturally  took  a  literary  turn.     The  in 
valid  poet  directed  it,   and  all  listened,   en 
chanted  by  his  low,  rich,  musical  voice,  and 
the  brilliant  play  of  his  imagination. 

Mrs.   Osgood,   writing   after   Poe's   death, 
speaking  of  her  first  acquaintance  with  Poe, 
soon  after  the  publication  of  The  Raven,  saidf*\ 
"Of  the  charming  love  and  confidence  that  ex- 
isted  between  his  wife  and  himself,  I  cannot 
speak  too  earnestly,  too  warmly.     It  was  in  ; 
his  own  simple  yet  poetical  home  that,  to  me,  . 
the  character  of  Edgar  Poe  appeared  in  its 
most    beautiful   light.      Playful,    affectionate, 
witty;   alternately  docile  and  wayward  as  a 

59 


oe  Cult 


petted  child;  for  his  young,  gentle,  idolized 
wife,  and  for  all  who  came,  he  had,  even  in 
the  midst  of  the  harassing  literary  work,  a 
kind  word,  a  pleasant  smile,  a  graceful  and 
courteous  attention." 

Poe  was  the  most  accomplished  literary  man 
we  have  ever  had.  He  possessed  wonderful 
skill  as  a  literary  artist.  All  through  his  life 
he  was  refining  and  improving  his  work,  and 
was  never  satisfied  until  he  had  made  it  as 
perfect  as  possible.  Compare,  for  instance, 
"A  Paean,"  of  1831,  and  "Lenore,"  of  1843. 
The  only  fair  way  to  examine  an  author  is 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  lover  and  the  intel 
ligence  of  a  scholar.  Poe  has  seldom  been 
thus  examined:  His  critics  have  been  either 
devoted  admirers  who  could  see  no  fault  in 
him,  or  enemies  who  could  see  no  good.  An 
other  class  of  critics  has  appeared  within  the 
present  generation  who  have  examined  him 
with  a  candid  judgment  and  unprejudiced 
minds.  These  have  not  been  his  own  country 
men,  except  in  rare  cases,  but  the  scholars  of 
England,  France  and  Germany.  Poe  showed 
his  mastery  of  artistic  composition  in  his  re 
markable  restraint,  in  his  wonderful  concen 
tration.  Goethe  says  "in  his  illiminations  the 
master  shows  himself." 

In  May,  1846,  Poe  commenced  a  prose  dun- 

60 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


ciad  in  Godey's  Lady's  Book,  his  celebrated 
critical  papers,  "The  Literati  of  New  York." 
The  majority  of  these  "Literati"  have  passed 
to  their  merited  oblivion,  but  the  series,  which 
ran  from  May  to  October,  caused  an  immense 
sensation  among  the  dunces  and  their  friends 
as  well  as  the  reading  public  generally.  Poe 
caused  as  much  terror  among  the  literary  pig 
mies  as  Gulliver  caused  among  the  Lilliputian 
pigmies.  As  the  natural  result  of  such  just  but 
severe  criticism,  he  made  a  "host  of  enemies 
among  persons  toward  whom  he  entertained 
no  personal  ill-will."  These  little  men  and 
their  friends  nursed  their  wrath,  and  kept  it 
warm  until  Poe  died,  then  they  attacked  the 
character  of  the  defenseless  poet,  inventing 
lies,  grossly  exaggerating  the  truth,  and  be 
smirching  the  honor  of  him  who  was  the  soul 
of  honor.  Poe  has  been  dead  sixty  years,  yet 
these  libels  still  live  and  circulate,  and  are  be 
lieved  by  ignorant  or  malicious  persons,  al 
though  they  have  been  refuted  a  hundred 
times. 

Poe  was  one  of  the  first  American  writers 
who  appeared  on  the  lecture  platform.  He 
possessed  a  personal  magnetism  which  com 
pletely  fascinated  his  audience.  His  voice  was 
beautifully  modulated,  his  language  was  ele- 

61 


Poe  Cult 


gant,  and  his  opinions  were  bold,  original,  and 
always  forcefully  expressed.  His  first  lecture,- 
or  at  least,  the  first  one  of  which  we  have 
record,  was  delivered  before  the  William  Wirt 
Institute,  in  Philadelphia,  on  the  25th  of  No 
vember,  1843.  The  subject  was  "The  Poets 
and  Poetry  of  America/'  It  was  in  this  lec 
ture  that  Poe  gave  public  utterance  to  his 
private  opinion  of  Rufus  W.  Griswold's  pre 
tentious  compilation,  bearing  a  similar  title  to 
that  of  Poe's  lecture.  His  criticism  was  just, 
but  extremely  severe,  and  excited  much  at 
tention  in  Philadelphia,  where  both  Poe  and 
Griswold  lived  at  the  time.  The  latter  person 
was  highly  indignant,  and  never  forgave  his 
assailant,  but,  although  he  took  no  notice  of  it 
at  the  time,  he  waited  until  Poe  was  in  his 
grave,  and  then  published  the  Memoir  which 
has  been  pronounced  one  of  the  three  most  in 
famous  Memoirs  ever  written — the  other  two 
being  Froude's  Life  of  Carlyle,  and  Hogg's 
"Domestic  Manners  and  Private  Life  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott." 

Poe  repeated  the  lecture  on  "The  Poets  and 
Poetry  of  America"  in  New  York,  on  the  25th 
of  February,  1845,  after  the  publication  of  The 
Raven  had  made  him  famous.  Of  this  lecture, 
he  himself  said:  "I  took  occasion  to  speak 
what  I  know  to  be  the  truth.  I  told  these 

62 


Cfte  12) o e  Cult 


gentlemen  (the  audience  was  composed  chiefly 
of  editors  and  publishers),  with  a  few  noble 
exceptions  they  had  been  engaged  for  many 
years  in  a  system  of  indiscriminate  praise  and 
puffery  of  American  books." 

As  the  summer  of  1846  approached,  the 
health  of  Mrs.  Poe  continued  to  decline,  and 
dreading  the  effects  of  the  city  heat  upon  the 
already  feeble  health  of  the  lovely  and  loved 
invalid,  the  little  family  removed  to  Fordham. 
The  new  home  was  a  tiny  Dutch  cottage,  con 
taining  four  rooms,  but  it  was  cool,  quiet,  and 
away  from  the  excitement  and  temptation  of 
New  York.  The  parlor  was  the  poet's  study. 
Here  he  wrote  "Ulalume,"  "Eureka/"  and 
other  productions  oT~HTs  "lonesome,  latter 
years."  The  room  was  neatly  furnished:  red 
and  white  matting  covered  the  floor;  four 
cane-seat  chairs,  a  small  table,  a  set  of  hanging 
bookshelves,  and  two  or  three  engravings  com 
pleted  the  furniture.  A  lady,  Mrs.  Gove- 
Nichols,  who  visited  Poe's  cottage  home,  in 
1846,  says:  "There  was  an  air  of  taste  and 
gentility  about  the  place  that  must  have  been 
lent  to  it  by  the  presence  of  its  inmates.  So 
neat,  so  poor,  so  unfurnished,  and  yet  so 
charming  a  dwelling  I  never  saw.  There  was 
an  acre  or  two  of  greensward  fenced  in  about 
the  house,  as  smooth  as  velvet,  and  as  clean  as 

63 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

the  best-kept  carpet.  Mr.  Poe  was  so  hand 
some,  so  impassive  in  his  wonderful,  intellec 
tual  beauty,  so  proud  and  reserved,  so  entirely 
a  gentleman  upon  all  occasions — so  good  a 
talker  that  he  impressed  himself  and  his  wishes 
even  without  words  upon  those  with  whom  he 
spoke.  His  voice  was  melody  itself.  He 
always  spoke  low,  even  in  a  violent  discussion, 
compelling  his  hearers  to  listen  if  they  would 
know  his  opinion,  his  facts,  fancies,  or  phi 
losophy.  Mrs.  Poe  looked  very  young ;  she  had 
large  black  eyes,  and  a  pearly  whiteness  of 
complexion  which  was  a  perfect  pallor.  Her 
pale  face,  her  brilliant  eyes,  and  her  raven 
hair  gave  her  an  unearthly  look.  One  felt 
that  she  was  almost  a  disrobed  spirit,  and  when 
she  coughed,  it  was  made  certain  that  she  was 
rapidly  passing  away." 

Darker  and  darker  grew  the  shadows  over 
the  Fordham  cottage — sadder  and  sadder 
grew  the  hearts  of  the  devoted  husband  and 
mother  as  the  autumn  passed,  and  the  winter 
of  1846-7,  drew  near.  The  sickness  of  his 
wife,  and  his  own  ill  health  incapacitated  Poe 
from  literary  work,  his  only  source  of  revenue, 
and,  consequently,  the  family  were  reduced  to 
the  last  extremity,  wanting  even  the  barest 
necessaries  of  life — at  a  time,  too,  when  Mrs. 

64 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


Poe  required  the  little  delicacies  so  grateful  to 
the  sick.  At  this,  the  darkest  hour  of  Poe's 
life,  an  angel  of  mercy  in  the  person  of  Mrs. 
Mary  Louise  Shew  appeared  on  the  scene,  and 
relieved  the  wants  of  the  family,  and  brought 
comfort  to  the  sick  room  of  the  dying  wife. 
I  have  not  the  heart  to  linger  over  the  death 
bed,  which  was  as  sad  and  pathetic  as  ever  told 
by  poet  or  romance  writer.  The  weather  was 
intensely  cold — for  it  was  midwinter — and 
Mrs.  Poe  suffered  from  the  chills  tliat  followed 
the  hectic  fever  of  consumption.  The  bed  was 
of  straw,  and  covered  only  with  spread  and 
sheets;  no  blanket.  Here  the  dying  lady  lay, 
wrapped  in  her  husband's  overcoat,  with  a 
large  tortoise-shell  cat  in  her  bosom.  The  cat 
and  the  coat  afforded  the  only  warmth  to  the 
sufferer,  except  that  imparted  by  her  mothervy 
chafing  her  feet  and  her  husband  her  hands. ^j 
And  thus  died,  on  January  30,  1847,  at  the 
early  age  of  twenty-five,  the  wife  of  America's 
greatest  genius. 

This  loss,  though  long  expected,  was  not  the 
less  crushing  when  it  came  at  last.  To  a  lady 
of  Massachusetts,  who  had  sent  him  expres 
sions  of  sympathy,  Edgar  Poe  wrote,  a  few 
weeks  after  his  wife's  death:  "I  was  over- 
whelmed  by  a  sorrow  so  poignant  as  to  de- 
prive  me,  for  several  weeks,  of  all  power  of 

65 


Cfje  Poe  Cult 

1  thought  or  action."  Mrs.  Clemm  told  me  that 
\  "Eddie"  often  wandered  to  his  wife's  grave 
4/at  midnight,  in  the  snow  and  rain,  and  threw 
//himself  upon  the  mound  of  earth,  calling  upon 
her  in  words  of  devoted  love,  and  invoking  her 
gentle  spirit  to  watch  over  him.  It  is  now 
known  that  Edgar  Poe  was  never  the  same 
man  after  the  death  of  his  idolized  young  wife. 
For  weeks  and  months  after  that  crushing- 
sorrow,  he  was  buried  in  an  agony  of  grief, 
from  which  nothing  could  arouse  him.  His 
V  books  and  studies  were  abandoned;  his  pen 
was  thrown  aside;  his  usual  occupations, were 
neglected.  He  wandered  up  and  down  the 
country  by  day,  and  at  night  kept  long  and 
solitary  vigil  at  the  grave  of  his  "Lost 
Lenore."  He  who  rarely  smiled  and  never 
laugEed  before,  now  might  almost  be  said  to 
have  "never  smiled  again."  The  unhappy 
Master  of  the  Raven,  tortured  by  intolerable 
memories  of  the  lost  one,  sought  to  drown  his 
sorrow  in  the  waters  of  Lethe.  It  was  not  for 
pleasure  that  he  thus  sank  his  noble  intellect. 
"I  have  absolutely  no  pleasure  in  the  stimu 
lants  to  which  I  sometimes  so  madly  indulge," 
he  wrote  within  a  year  of  his  death.  "It  has 
not  been  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  that  I  have 
periled  life  and  reputation  and  reason.  It  has 
been  in  the  desperate  attempt  to  escape  from 

66 


Cije  Poe  Cult 


torturing  memories,  from  a  sense  of  insuper 
able  loneliness,  and  a  dread  of  some  strange, 
impending  doom." 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  this  "mad 
indulgence"  was  habitual.  It  was  only  occa 
sional,  only  when  driven  to  despair  by  "in 
tolerable  sorrow,"  that  he  was  guilty  of  follies 
and  excesses,  "which,"  as  he  very  justly  com 
plained,  "are  hourly  committed  by  others  with 
out  attracting  any  notice  whatever."  But  he 
was  famous — he  was  the  author  of  The  Raven 
— they  were  unknown,  and,  therefore,  un 
noticed.  It  is  very  easy  for  men  who  live  in 
comfort,  men  who  have  no  trials  of  poverty 
and  sorrow,  to  condemn  Edgar  Poe  as  a 
drunkard;  whereas,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
he  seldom  drank,  while  they  are  regular 
drinkers,  and  for  mere  sensual  gratification, 
but  he  only  when  driven  to  it  by  misery  and 
despair.  This  is  proved  by  the  unimpeachable 
testimony  of  such  persons  as  N.  P.  Willis,  who 
was  in  daily  intercourse  with  him  for  months, 
and  saw  nothing  of  the  "frequent  fits  of  in 
toxication,"  of  which  his  malicious  biographer 
spoke;  L.  A.  Wilmer,  during  an  intimate 
friendship  of  twelve  years,  saw  nothing  of  it; 
George  R.  Graham,  who  was  associated  with 
him  daily  for  two  years,  saw  nothing  of  it ;  S. 
D.  Lewis,  the  husband  of  Estelle  Anna  Lewis, 

6; 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


and  who  lived  in  the  closest  intimacy  with  Poe, 
never  saw  him  drink  a  glass  of  beer,  wine,  or 
liquor  of  any  kind.  In  fact,  it  has  been  proved 
beyond  a  doubt,  that  it  was  only  at  rare  in 
tervals,  and  more  especially  after  the  death  of 
his  adored  wife,  that  he  indulged  in  stimu 
lants  at  all.  Upon  these  occasions,  the  lines  in 
Dermody's  "Enthusiast,"  might  be  applied  to 
Poe: 

"He  who  such  polished  lines  so  well  could  form, 
Was  Passion's  slave,  Intoxication's  child ; 

Now  earth-enamored,  a  groveling  worm, 

Now  seraph-plumed,  the  wonderful,  the  wild." 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  in  which  Poe  lost 
his  wife,  he  wrote  that  strange,  mysterious, 
fascinating  poem,  "Ulalume,"  which  was  pub 
lished  in  the  American  Review,  for  December, 
1847.  Willis  copied  the  poem  in  the  Home 
Journal,  January  i,  1848,  with  the  following 
remarks:  "We  do  not  know  how  many 
readers  we  have  who  will  enjoy  as  we  do  this 
exquisitely  piquant  and  skillful  exercise  of 
variety  and  niceness  of  language.  It  is  a  poem 
full  of  beauty — a  curiosity  (and  a  delicious 
one,  we  think),  in  philologic  flavor."  When 
Willis  wrote  this  notice,  it  was  not  known  that 
Poe  was  the  author  of  the  poem,  which  was 
published  anonymously.  Mrs.  Whitman,  speak 
ing  of  this  strange  threnody,  says :  "This  poem, 

68 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 

perhaps  the  most  original  and  weirdly  suggest 
ive  of  all  his  poems,  resembles,  at  first  sight, 
some  of  Turner's  landscapes,  being,  appar 
ently,  without  form,  and  void,  and  having 
darkness  on  the  face  of  it.  It  is,  nevertheless, 
in  its  basis,  although  not  in  the  precise  cor 
respondence  of  time,  simply  historical.  Such 
was  the  poet's  lonely  midnight  walk;  such, 
amid  desolate  memories  and  sceneries  of  the 
hour,  was  the  new-born  hope  enkindled  within 
his  heart  at  the  sight  of  the  morning  star— 
'Astarte's  be-diamond  crescent' — booming  up 
as  the  beautiful  harbinger  of  love  and  happi 
ness,  yet  awaiting  him  in  the  untried  future," 
etc. 

The  original  autograph  of  "Ulalume"  was 
sold  at  auction,  in  New  York,  several  years 
ago,  which  contained  a  stanza  that  was  sup 
pressed  before  the  poem  was  published.  Poe 
once  recited  the  whole  poem  at  an  evening 
gathering  in  Richmond,  Va.  One  of  the 
guests,  Miss  Susanna  Ingram,  was  deeply  af 
fected,  but  confessed  that  she  could  not  under 
stand  it  at  a  first  hearing,  and  asked  the 
privilege  of  seeing  it  in  manuscript.  The  next 
morning  Poe  sent  her  a  copy  of  the  poem  ac 
companied  by  a  characteristic  note,  which  runs 
as  follows:  "Monday  evening.  I  have  tran 
scribed  'Ulalume'  with  much  pleasure,  dear 

69 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


Miss  Ingram,  as  I  am  sure  I  would  do  any 
thing  at  your  bidding,  but  I  fear  you  will  find 
the  verses  scarcely  more  intelligible  to-day  in 
my  manuscript  than  last  night  in  my  recita 
tion.  I  would  endeavor  to  explain  to  you  what 
I  really  meant  by  the  poem  if  it  were  not  that 
I  remember  Dr.  Johnson's  bitter  and  rather 
just  remarks  about  the  folly  of  explaining 
what,  if  worth  explaining,  would  explain  itself. 
He  has  a  happy  witticism,  too,  about  some  book 
which  he  calls  'as  obscure  as  an  explanatory 
note/  Leaving  'Ulalume'  to  its  fate,  there 
fore,  and  in  good  hands,  I  am  yours  truly, 
Edgar  A.  Poe." 

Although  Poe  published  only  this  one  poem 
in  1847 — his  "most  immemorial  year,"  his 
busy  brain  was  not  idle.  It  was  during  the 
last  months  of  that  year  "Eureka"  was 
planned,  thought  out,  and  mostly  written.  Mrs. 
Clemm  told  me  that,  when  engaged  upon  the 
composition  of  this  extraordinary  prose-poem, 
he  would  walk  up  and  down  the  porch  in  front 
of  the  cottage  in  the  coldest  nights  of  Decem 
ber,  with  an  overcoat  thrown  over  his  shoul 
der,  gazing  at  the  stars,  and  "pondering  the 
deep  problem"  of  the  universe,  until  long  after 
midnight.  Having  finished  "Eureka,"  Poe' 
used  it  as  a  lecture,  which  he  delivered  in  New 
York  on  Thursday  evening,  February  3,  1848. 

70 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

The  night  was  stormy,  but  there  was  present  a 
"select  but  highly  appreciative  audience  that 
remained  attentive  and  interested  for  nearly 
three  hours,  under  the  lecturer's  powerful, 
able,  and  profound  analytical  exposition  of  his 
peculiar  theory  on  the  origin,  creation,  and 
final  destiny  of  the  universe."  "Mr.  Poe's  de 
livery"  was  described  as  "pure,  finished,  and 
chaste  in  style;  his  power  of  reasoning  acute, 
his  analytic  perceptions  keen.  The  lecturer  ap 
peared  inspired;  his  eyes  seemed  to  glow  like 
those  of  his  own  Raven." 

The  special  object  of  the  lecture  was  to  ob 
tain  funds  to  start  The  Stylus,  a  magazine  in 
which  he  intended  "to  maintain  a  sincere  and 
fearless  opinion,"  and  "absolutely  independent 
criticism,"  guided  by  the  "intelligible  laws  of 
art." 

Having  failed  to  make  any  money  by 
"Eureka"  as  a  lecture,  he  determined  to  pub 
lish  it  in  book  form.  Having  carefully  re 
vised  and  enlarged  it,  that  generous  patron  of 
literature,  George  P.  Putnam,  published  the 
work  in  the  Spring  of  1848.  "Eureka"  was 
the  most  ambitious  production  of  Poe's  pen, 
and  the  least  successful. 

Early  in  the  Summer  of  1848,  Poe  visited 
Richmond,  and  became  acquainted  with  John 
R.  Thompson,  the  editor  of  the  Southern 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

Literary  Messenger,  who  engaged  him  to  write 
for  the  magazine.  The  September  number 
contained  an  elaborately  eulogistic  review  of 
Mrs.  Estelle  Anna  Lewis's  poems;  and  the 
October  number  was  enriched  by  Poe's  famous 
"The  Rationale  of  Verse."  While  in  Rich 
mond,  at  this  time,  he  renewed  his  acquaint 
ance  with  his  early  sweetheart,  Elmira  Roy- 
ster  (now  Mrs.  Shelton,  a  rich  widow). 
Rumor  has  it  that  he  was  about  to  engage 
himself  to  this  lady  when  he  received  a  com 
plimentary  poem  from  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman,  whom  he  had  first  seen  in  1845, 
when  he  was  returning  from  Boston  to  New 
York,  and  had  stopped  in  Providence  en  route. 
The  two  had  never  met  until  in  October,  1848, 
when  Poe,  provided  with  a  letter  of  introduc 
tion,  called  upon  her,  and  after  a  short  ac 
quaintance  of  forty-eight  hours,  asked  her  to 
marry  him.  As  the  story  of  Poe's  affair  with 
Mrs.  Whitman  is  told  at  length  in  other  por 
tions  of  this  volume,  it  need  not  be  repeated 
here;  suffice  it  to  say  that  they  were  engaged, 
and  were  on  the  eve  of  being  married,  when 
the  engagement  was  broken  off  forever.  Mrs. 
Whitman  died  on  the  27th  of  June,  1878,  re 
maining  to  the  last  an  enthusiastic  admirer 
and  defender  of  Edgar  A.  Poe. 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

Edgar  Poe  passed  the  Winter  and  Spring 
of  1849  at  his  cottage  in  Fordham.  The  only 
variety  in  the  monotony  of  his  secluded  life 
was  the  occasional  visit  of  a  friend,  or  a  visit 
of  a  few  days  by  Mrs.  Clemm  and  himself  to 
their  friend,  Mrs.  Estelle  Anna  Lewis,  in 
Brooklyn. 

On  the  3Oth  of  June,  1849,  P°e  departed 
from  this  lady's  house,  where  he  and  Mrs. 
Clemm  had  passed  the  previous  night,  on  his 
last  journey  to  the  South.  July,  August  and 
September  were  spent  in  Richmond  and  Nor 
folk,  and  in  both  cities  he  delivered  his  lecture 
on  "The  Poetic  Principle,"  and  was  every 
where  received  with  cordial  appreciation.  In 
September  he  became  engaged  to  Mrs.  Shel- 
ton,  and  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Clemm  that  his 
marriage  would  take  place  on  the  i/th  of  Octo 
ber.  This  letter,  although  announcing  the 
"happy  event,"  was  very  sad,  as  though  the 
writer  was  oppressed  by  a  sense  of  impending 
doom.  On  Tuesday,  the  2d  of  October,  he 
left  Richmond  by  boat  for  Baltimore,  where 
he  arrived  the  next  morning.  His  intention 
was  to  go  to  Fordham  and  to  bring  Mrs. 
Clemm  to  Richmond  for  his  wedding.  He  told 
her  to  be  ready  to  return  with  him  on  the  loth, 
that  he  had  determined  to  pass  the  rest  of  his 
life  amid  the  scenes  of  his  happy  youth.  What 

73 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


became  of  Poe,  after  he  arrived  in  Baltimore 
on  that  October  morning,  will  probably  never 
be  known.  It  was  an  election  day.  His 
cousin,  the  late  Judge  Neilson  Poe,  told  me 
that,  on  the  evening  of  October  3d,  he  was  in 
formed  that  a  gentleman  named  Poe  was  in  a 
back  room  of  the  Fourth  Ward  polls,  on  Lom 
bard  Street,  between  High  and  Exeter  Streets. 
On  going  there,  he  found  Edgar  Poe  in  a 
state  of  stupefaction.  He  was  told  that  his 
cousin  had  been  "cooped"  and  voted  all  over 
the  city.  The  dying  poet  was  taken  to  the 
Washington  College  Hospital,  on  Broadway, 
now  the  Church  Home  and  Infirmary.  There, 
on  the  following  Sunday,  October  7th,  he 
died,  and  was  buried  the  next  afternoon  at  four 
o'clock.  It  was  a  dull,  cold,  dreary  day — such 
a  day  as  he  had  described  in  'Ulalume' :" 

"The  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober, 
The  leaves  they  were  crisped  and  sere." 


74 


J      2 
^j 

H       Si 


OF  THE 

[   UNIVERSITY   ) 

OF 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


THE  POE  CULT. 

One  of  the  most  astonishing  facts  in  the 
literary  annals  of  America,  if  not  of  the  world, 
is  the  amazing  rise  of  what  may  be  called  the 
Poe  cult.  The  unhappy  master  of  "The 
Raven"  was  the  victim  of  a  fate  more  strange, 
more  romantic,  more  tragical  than  poet  ever 
imagined  or  novelist  ever  penned.  His  life 
was  one  of  suffering,  sorrow,  and  song;  he 
died  a  wretched  death  in  a  public  hospital, 

Unwept,  unhonored,  unsung. 
His  funeral  was  pathetic  in  its  meagre  at 
tendance,  its  scant  ceremony  and  absence  of 
mourning.  Only  eight  persons  were  present 
at  the  funeral  of  one  of  the  immortals  of 
earth. 

At  the  time  of  this  humble  funeral,  on  Octo 
ber  8,  1849,  no  one  could  have  dreamed  that 
within  twenty-five  years  Edgar  Poe  would  be 
regarded  by  the  cultured  people  of  all  lands  as 
the  most  unique  and  remarkable  genius  in 
American  literature.  Equally  astonishing  is 
the  fact  that  many  persons  who  were  old 
enough  to  remember  Poe  are  still  alive,  when 
his  letters  possess  a  market  value  of  five  times 

75 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


as  great  as  that  of  Byron's,  twice  as  great  as 
Shelley's,  a  hundred  times  as  great  as  Bry 
ant's,  Longfellow's,  Lowell's,  and  other  con 
temporaneous  American  authors.  Still  more 
remarkable  is  the  fact  that  the  manuscripts  of 
those  poems,  for  which  he  received  trifling 
sums,  have  become  as  precious  as  the  Sibylline 
leaves,  and  are  worth  their  weight  in  gold.  *  If 
the  original  manuscript  of  "The  Raven"  were 
still  in  existence,  American  millionaires  would 
contend  for  its  possession,  and  $10,000  would 
be  gladly  paid  for  the  inestimable  treasure. 
Yet,  for  this  poem,  which  has  brought  more 
honor  upon  American  literature  than  any 
other  single  American  poem,  and  established 
Poe's  fame  as  the  most  original  of  American 
poets — a  poem  which  stands  alone  in  poetry 
as  the  "Venus"  in  sculpture  and  "The  Trans 
figuration"  in  painting — for  this  wonderful 
poem  whose  weird  and  mysterious  fascination 
has  thrilled  the  world,  Poe  was  paid  only  ten 
dollars,  a  sum  which  is  now  paid  for  an  ordi 
nary  love  story  in  a  weekly  newspaper. 

Upon  the  rare  occasions  when  the  first  edi 
tions  of  Poe's  poems  have  been  offered  for  sale 
at  auction,  the  excitement  has  run  high,  the 
bidding  has  been  spirited,  and  the  prices  have 
broken  the  record.  The  first  edition  of  Tamer 
lane  and  Other  Poems  (Boston,  1827),  was 

76 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


never  offered  at  public  auction  until  the  Spring 
of  1892.  In  fact,  for  sixty  years,  one  copy 
only,  and  that  an  imperfect  one,  was  known  to 
exist,  and  that  was  in  the  locked  room  of  the 
British  Museum,  there  to  stay  "for  evermore." 
So  when  it  was  announced  that  a  second  copy 
of  the  precious  volume  was  to  be  sold  at 
auction,  the  excitement  among  wealthy  collec 
tors  was  great.  As  no  copy  had  ever  been 
sold,  there  was  no  record  price.  The  bidding 
was  high  and  rapid — $500,  $750,  $1,000,  $i,- 
500,  $1,750;  finally  the  tiny  paper  volume  of 
forty  pages,  whose  intrinsic  value  was  about 
ten  cents,  was  knocked  down  for  the  enormous 
sum  of  $1,850.  The  purchaser,  proud  of  his 
prize,  sent  it  to  Paris  and  had  it  bound  in 
mosaic  at  a  cost  of  $300.  In  the  Spring  of 
1894  another  copy  of  the  first  edition  of 
Tamerlane  was  discovered  by  an  obscure 
young  lawyer  in  an  obscure  town  in  Vermont. 
The  finding  of  a  third  copy  naturally  lessened 
the  value  of  the  work  as  a  unique  or  rare 
book,  and  when  it  was  offered  to  several  per 
sons  who  are  interested  in  literary  curios,  no 
offer  above  $1,200  could  be  secured  for  it. 
What  became  of  that  copy  of  Tamerlane  I 
have  no  means  of  knowing.  In  the  Autumn 
of  1900,  a  copy  was  sold  at  auction,  bringing 
the  record  price  of  $2,050. 

77 


Cije  poe  Cult 


The  immense  price  paid  for  an  exemplar  of 
the  first  edition  of  Tamerlane  shows  the  re 
markable  advance  that  has  taken  place  in  the 
value  of  Poeana  during  the  last  ten  years.  But 
all  records  were  broken  in  this  respect  at  the 
sale  of  Mr.  Frederick  William  French's 
library  on  the  23d,  24th  and  25th  of  April, 
1901.  The  second  edition  of  Tamerlane, 
Baltimore,  1829,  a  beautiful  copy  in  the  origi 
nal  boards,  uncut,  was  sold  to  a  dealer  for 
$1,300,  an  advance  of  $200  on  the  price  of  the 
McKee  copy  sold  in  November,  1900.  No.  I 
of  the  Prose  Romances  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  con 
taining  "The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue" 
and  "The  Man  that  Was  Used  Up"  in  the 
original  brown  paper  wrappers,  brought  an 
even  $1,000;  an  enormous  price,  but  only  two 
copies  are  known  to  be  in  existence.  Two 
autograph  letters  of  Poe's  at  the  same  sale 
fetched,  respectively,  $250  and  $210. 

In  mentioning  these  fabulous  prices  paid  for 
Poe  rarities,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the 
pity  of  it  is  that  the  unhappy  master  of  "The 
Raven"  should  have  lived  in  poverty,  often  in 
absolute  want,  when  the  price  of  one  of  his 
rare  editions  would  have  made  him  com 
fortable  for  years;  when  the  price  of  one  of 
his  autograph  letters  would  have  provided 
heat  to  warm  the  benumbed  limbs  of  his  dying 

78 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

wife,  wine  to  stimulate  her  physical  weakness, 
and  delicate  food  to  nourish  her  body,  ex 
hausted  by  consumption. 

Mr.  William  Nelson,  of  Paterson,  New 
Jersey,  a  few  years  ago,  was  fortunate  enough 
to  secure  the  original  manuscript  of  "The 
Bells"  for  $275.  He  is  an  enthusiastic  Poe 
man,  and  his  collection  contains  several  first 
editions;  also,  The  Southern  Literary  Mes 
senger  and  Graham's  Magazine,  of  both  of 
which  Poe  was  editor.  He  has  also  a  large  and 
interesting  collection  of  newspaper  clippings 
relating  to  Poe,  running  from  a  single  para 
graph  to  long  editorials.  Mr.  Nelson  has  spent 
much  time  and  money  in  forming  his  collec 
tion,  but  when  the  Poe  mania  takes  possession 
of  a  man,  time  counts  for  nothing,  and  money 
is  thrown  away  with  reckless  prodigality.* 

The  Poe  cult  is  progressive :  beginning  with 
admiration  of  his  melodious  poems  and  ex 
traordinary  prose  tales,  the  admiration  of  the 
poetry  leads  to  an  enthusiasm  for  the  poet  and 
an  interest  in  everything  relating  to  him.  The 
shabby  little  homes  in  which  he  lived,  and 
loved,  and  worked,  become  pilgrims'  shrines. 
The  few  books  which  he  owned  become 
precious  relics.  When  the  old  Allan  mansion 


*Since  the  above  was  written,  Mr.  Nelson  has  sold  his  Poe 
rarities,  "The  Bells"  bringing  $2,100. 

79 


rCfte  Poe  Cult 

in  Richmond,  Virginia,  was  pulled  down  a  few 
years  ago,  there  was  a  pretty  scramble  for  Poe 
relics,  for  in  that  house  Poe's  happy  childhood 
and  youth  were  passed.  Thirty  dollars  was 
asked  for  the  mantelpiece  of  the  poet's  room, 
thirty-five  for  the  bureau,  five  for  the  lock, 
etc.  The  cane  with  which  old  Mr.  Allan,  Poe's 
adopted  father,  threatened  to  strike  the  way 
ward  poet  if  he  did  not  leave  the  house  after 
their  irreconcilable  quarrel,  should  have 
brought  a  fabulous  price  could  it  have  been 
found  among  the  curios  collected  there.  Had 
any  of  Poe's  juvenile  verses  been  discovered, 
they  would  have  brought  hundreds,  yes,  thou 
sands  of  dollars.  What  became  of  those 
precious  manuscripts  containing  poems  to  his 
boyish  sweethearts  will  never  be  known. 

It  is  strange  that  there  are  so  few  of  Poe's 
letters  in  existence,  for  he  was  a  voluminous 
letter  writer,  and  had  many  correspondents 
among  the  literary  men  and  women  of  his 
time.  The  late  Judge  Neilson  Poe,  of  Balti 
more,  who  was  a  cousin  of  the  poet,  had 
several  very  interesting  letters  from  Edgar 
Poe,  which  I  have  seen.  These  disappeared 
soon  after  the  Judge's  death,  and  have  never 
been  traced.  Their  publication  would  throw 
much  light  on  certain  periods  of  Poe's  life. 
Mrs.  Clemm  was  in  possession  of  several 

80 


C6e  Poe  Cult 

valuable  Poe  letters  and  other  things  at  the 
time  of  her  death  in  Baltimore,  on  February 
1 6,  1871.  These  also  disappeared,  no  one 
knows  whither. 

The  present  Poe  cult  commenced  at  the  time 
of  the  unveiling  of  the  monument  to  the  poet 
in  Baltimore  on  the  I7th  of  November,  1875. 
It  was  a  memorable  occasion,  not  only  for 
American  literature,  but  for  the  literature  of 
the  world.  It  was  the  first  recognition  of  the 
extraordinary  genius  of  the  author  of  "The 
Raven."  It  drew  together  a  notable  as 
semblage,  including  several  who  had  been  as 
sociated  with  Poe  in  his  youth  and  early  man 
hood.  Among  these  were  Professor  Joseph  H. 
Clarke,  Poe's  first  teacher  in  Richmond,  who 
died  in  Baltimore  in  1886,  in  the  ninety-second 
year  of  his  age;  John  H.  B.  Latrobe,  the  dis 
tinguished  Southern  lawyer,  the  last  survivor 
of  the  three  gentlemen,  who,  by  awarding  to 
Poe  the  prize  for  the  best  prose  tale,  gave  him 
the  first  lift  up  the  literary  ladder;  John  H. 
Hewett,  the  editor  of  the  Saturday  Visitor,  in 
which  the  prize  story,  "The  Manuscript  Found 
in  a  Bottle/'  was  published ;  Dr.  John  E.  Snod- 
grass,  the  last  editor  of  the  Saturday  Visitor, 
and  associate  editor  of  the  American  Museum, 
in  which  several  of  Poe's  early  poems  and  tales 
were  published;  Dr.  Nathan  Covington 

81 


Ct)e  Poe  Cult 

Brooks,  editor  of  the  American  Museum; 
Doctor  John  G.  Morris,  president  of  the  Mary 
land  Historical  Society;  Nathaniel  H.  Mori- 
son,  Provost  of  the  Peabody  Institute,  Balti 
more;  Judge  Neilson  Poe,  the  nearest  sur 
viving  relative  of  the  poet;  and  Walt  Whit 
man,  the  last  in  name,  but  first  in  fame.  (An 
extended  account  of  the  unveiling  of  the  Poe 
monument  is  given  in  a  later  article  in  this 
volume,  entitled,  "The  Truth  about  Edgar 
Allan  Poe.") 

Dr.  Johnson  said  that  Oliver  Goldsmith 
touched  nothing  which  he  did  not  ornament. 
It  can  be  as  truly  said  of  Poe  that  he  touched 
nothing  which  he  did  not  immortalize.  The 
room  at  the  University  of  Virginia,  where  he 
spent  a  few  months  of  his  early  manhood,  is 
more  frequently  visited  than  are  the  dormi 
tories  of  the  long  line  of  orators,  statesmen 
and  scholars  who  were  educated  at  that  cele 
brated  seat  of  learning.  Every  magazine 
with  which  he  was  associated,  either  as  editor 
or  contributor — Graham's,  Godey's,  the  South 
ern  Literary  Messenger  and  other  periodicals 
— has  been  remembered  simply  because  Poe's 
name  was  connected  with  it.  The  little  cottage 
at  Fordham,  where  the  saddest  years  of  his  life 
were  spent — those  lonesome  latter  years  after 
the  death  of  his  wife — is  visited  by  strangers 

82 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

from  distant  lands  because  it  was  the  home  of 
the  poet,  where,  wifeless,  moneyless,  hopeless, 
he  made  his  last  desperate,  despairing  strug 
gle  with  pitiless  fortune.  His  tomb  in  West 
minster  churchyard,  Baltimore,  where  the 
poet's  "tantalized  spirit  blandly  reposes,"  has 
made  the  spot  the  "Poet's  Corner"  of  the 
Westminster  of  the  Monumental  City.  Men 
and  women's  names  have  been  saved  from 
oblivion  because  they  were  in  some  way  or 
other  associated  with  Poe,  either  as  friends  or 
enemies.  The  gentle  Mrs.  Osgood,  the  ma 
lignant  Griswold,  the  devoted  Mrs.  Whitman, 
the  ferocious  Briggs,  the  genial  General  Wet- 
more,  the  accomplished  John  R.  Thompson, 
and  many  others  will  occur  to  all  students  of 
the  life  and  works  of  the  author  of  "The 
Raven." 

Carlyle  regarded  it  as  a  remarkable  fact 
that  six  lives  of  Burns  had  been  published 
within  a  generation  after  his  death.  Within 
the  same  space  of  time,  nine  lives  of  Poe  were 
published,  while  several  others  have  been  is 
sued  during  the  last  decade.  These  numerous 
biographies  show  that  the  Poe  cult  is  ever  on 
the  increase,  and  that  the  reading  public  wel 
comes  every  addition  to  its  knowledge  of  the 
most  interesting  and  picturesque  figure  in 
American  literature. 

83 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


The  Poe  cult  is  not  confined  to  any  one,  two 
or  three  countries.  It  has  spread  through  the 
civilized  world.  It  includes  the  cultured  peo 
ple  of  Europe,  America,  and  in  the  lands  be 
yond  the  sea.  It  has  made  Edgar  A.  Poe  a 
classic.  Numerous  editions  of  his  works  have 
been  published  in  London  and  Edinburgh.  In 
France  he  is  as  much  admired  as  many  French 
authors.  A  dozen  editions  of  his  poems  and 
tales  have  appeared  in  Germany ;  his  tales  have 
been  published  in  Spain  and  Italy;  his  poetical 
works  in  Australia;  and  one  of  his  stories, 
"The  Oval  Portrait,"  has  been  translated  into 
modern  Greek  and  published  at  Athens.  The 
end  of  the  Poe  cult  cannot  be  foretold.  It 
has  not  reached  its  height.  Even  while  I 
write,  a  new  edition  of  his  works  in  seventeen 
volumes  has  been  published. 

It  should  always  be  remembered  that  the 
Poe  cult  owes  its  origin  and  stimulus  to  the 
gifted  and  fearless  Sarah  Helen  Whitman. 
When  malice  had  exhausted  itself  in  heaping 
insult  upon  the  name  of  the  dead  poet,  it  wras 
the  delicate  affection  of  Mrs.  Whitman — who 
loved  him  and  whom  he  loved — that  dared  to 
penetrate  the  "mournful  corridors"  of  that 
sad,  desolate  heart,  with  its  "halls  of  tragedy 
and  chambers  of  retribution,"  and  tell  the  true, 
but  melancholy,  story  of  the  author  of  "The 

84 


Poe  Cult 


Raven."  It  was  she  who  generously  came 
forward  as  "One  of  the  Friends"  of  him  who 
was  said  to  have  no  friends.  She  was  his 
steady  champion  from  first  to  last.  Whether 
it  was  some  crack-brained  scribbler  who  tried 
to  prove  Poe  "mad,"  or  some  accomplished 
scholar  who  endeavored  to  disparage  him  in 
order  to  magnify  some  other  writer,  or  some 
silly  woman  who  attempted  to  foist  herself 
into  a  little  brief  notice  by  relating  "imaginary 
facts"  about  the  poet's  hidden  life,  Mrs.  Whit 
man  was  always  ready  to  defend  her  dead 
friend. 

After  a  long  and  exhaustive  study  of  the 
life  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  during  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  was  neither  the  demon  painted  by  some  of 
his  early,  nor  the  angel  described  by  some  of 
his  later  biographers.  He  mingled  among 
men  neither  as  a  "prying  fiend"  nor  as  a  "be 
wildered  angel."  He  was  a  man  of  rare  and 
remarkable  genius,  with  the  infirmities  that 
often  accompany  it.  W^hile  endowed  with  ex 
traordinary  intellectual  gifts,  he  was  a  most 
unfortunate  victim  of  circumstances.  Left 
an  orphan  in  his  infancy,  he  was  adopted  by 
a  man  who  reared  him  in  luxury  as  the  heir 
of  a  splendid  fortune,  when  suddenly,  in  his 
twentieth  year,  he  was  thrown  upon  the  world 

85 


oe  Cult 


without  a  dollar.  Then  began  that  long,  des 
perate,  never-ending  struggle  for  bread.  The 
pen  was  his  weapon,  literature  his  pursuit, 
poverty  his  fate,  fame  his  reward. 


86 


C6e  Pot  Cult 


POE:  REAL  AND  REPUTED. 

We  are  told  that 

"Seven  Grecian  cities  claimed  Homer  dead, 
In  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread/' 

It  is  not  so  astonishing  that  the  birthplace 
of  the  Father  of  Poetry  should  be  unknown, 
for  he  lived  at  the  dawn  of  literature,  at  a 
prehistoric  period;  but  it  is  strange  that  so 
famous  a  poet  as  Edgar  A.  Poe — a  poet  of 
our  own  century,  of  our  country,  and  almost 
of  our  own  age — should  have  lived  and  died  a 
mystery  to  his  contemporaries,  and  remain  in 
many  respects  a  mystery  still,  although  nearly 
sixty  years  have  elapsed  since  his  death,  and 
nine  lives  of  him  have  been  written. 

For  twenty  years  after  his  death,  the  time 
of  his  birth  was  unknown,  and  the  place  of  his 
birth  was  uncertain.  The  present  writer  knew 
Mrs.  Clemm,  the  poet's  aunt  and  "more  than 
mother,"  in  her  last  years ;  she  said  positively 
that  "Eddie  was  born  on  the  iQth  of  January, 
1809,  at  Boston."  Thus,  Poe  was  one  of  that 
illustrious  group  whose  genius  was  the  glory 
of  the  nineteenth  century:  Tennyson,  Glad- 

87 


C&e  Poe  Cult 


stone,  Holmes,  and  Mrs.  Browning,  the  great 
est  of  all  poetesses.  At  the  time  of  our 
poet's  birth,  Byron,  Scott,  Shelley,  Coleridge, 
Southey,  Campbell,  and  Tom  Moore  had  re 
vived  the  glory  of  the  "elder  day"  of  English 
poetry,  and  "the  delusive  splendor  that  had  so 
long  gilded  the  Augustan  age  of  Anne  paled 
before  the  comprehensive  culture,  the  marvel 
ous  intellectual  expansion,  that  distinguished 
the  first  thirty  years  of  the  present  century/'* 
Not  since  the  "spacious  times  of  great  Eliza 
beth"  had  the  English  language  been  enriched 
by  so  brilliant  a  galaxy  of  poets. 

For  several  years  after  Poe's  death,  his 
grave  was  unknown,  and  for  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century  no  stone  marked  the  rest 
ing-place  of  the  poet  whose  genius  has  con 
ferred  more  glory  upon  American  literature 
than  any  other  American  writer.  Strangers 
from  far-off  countries  came  to  Baltimore  and 
visited  Poe's  grave  as  a  pilgrim's  shrine,  and 
great  was  their  astonishment  when  they  dis 
covered,  after  much  inquiry  and  diligent 
search,  the  poet's  grave  in  a  neglected  spot  of 
an  obscure  churchyard. 

Poe  was  a  most  refined  and  cultured  gentle- 


*From  Prof.  Henry  E.  Shepherd's  Address  at  the  Unveiling 
of  the  Poe  Monument  in  Baltimore,  November  17,  1875* 

88 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

man,  whose  friends  were  the  purest  and  love 
liest  ladies  in  the  land — a  man  wrhose  society 
was  sought  by  all  who  admired  genius  and 
pitied  the  misfortunes  that  often  attend  it. 

Tom  Moore  had  his  Russell,  Carlyle  his 
Froude,  Poe  his  Griswold.  Rufus  W.  Gris 
wold  was  the  self-chosen  biographer  of  Poe, 
and  he  produced  the  most  infamous  biography 
that  has  ever  been  published  in  any  language. 
Lies  were  invented,  facts  falsified,  the  truth 
tortured  into  falsehood,  and  everything  was 
done  to  blast  forever  the  poet's  memory. 

Upon  this  unscrupulous  memoir  the  author 
of  "The  Raven"  has  been  misjudged  by  many 
persons  for  more  than  fifty  years.  It  is  much 
easier  to  start  a  falsehood  than  to  stop  it  when 
once  on  its  travels.  No  man  has  suffered 
more  from  slander,  living  and  dead,  than  Ed 
gar  A.  Poe.  I  have  been  at  much  trouble  in 
order  to  obtain  the  truth  about  the  poet,  from 
his  earliest  years  to  his  tragical  death.  I  have 
consulted  with  the  living,  and  unearthed  the 
opinions  of  the  dead,  and  this  is  the  result: 

When  a  schoolboy  in  Richmond,  Poe's 
teacher  was  Prof.  Joseph  H.  Clarke,  who, 
in  speaking  of  his  famous  pupil,  described  him 
as  having  a  "tender  and  sensitive  heart";  he 
said  he  was  "a  boy  who  would  do  anything  to 
serve  a  friend,"  and  that  "his  nature  was  en- 

89 


oe  Cult 


tirely  free  from  selfishness,  the  most  common 
fault  of  boyhood."  One  of  his  classmates, 
Col.  John  T.  L.  Preston,  late  professor  at 
the  Virginia  Military  Institute,  says  that  Ed 
gar  A.  Poe  was  "a  generous,  free-hearted  boy, 
kind  to  his  companions,  and  always  ready  to 
assist  them  with  hand  and  head." 

I  quote  these  estimates  of  Poe  because  they 
show  that  he  possessed  the  very  qualities  which 
have  been  denied  him,  namely,  kindness  of 
heart,  and  an  unusual  freedom  from  selfish 
ness. 

The  most  malignant  enemy  of  Poe  accuses 
him  of  but  one  vice,  and  with  injustice  un 
paralleled,  makes  what  was  an  occasional  fall, 
an  habitual  sin.  Upon  this  subject  we  have 
the  testimony  of  many  witnesses  of  unimpeach 
able  integrity. 

T.  W.  Gibson,  his  roommate  at  West  Point, 
describes  the  class  of  1830  as  having  many 
wild  fellows  in  it,  but  he  says  that  he  does  not 
think  "Poe  was  intoxicated  while  at  the  Acad 
emy."  N.  P.  Willis,  with  whom  he  was  asso 
ciated  for  six  months  in  editing  the  New  York 
Mirror,  testifies  to  his  regular  attendance  at 
the  office,  and  his  perfect  propriety  of  conduct; 
Lambert  A.  Wilmer,  during  an  intimate 
friendship  of  twelve  years,  saw  nothing  of 
his  alleged  dissipated  habits;  George  R.  Gra- 

90 


oe  Cult 


ham,  who  was  in  daily  intercourse  with  him 
for  two  years,  saw  nothing  of  it. 

George  Gilfillan,  an  extravagant  English 
writer,  long  since  forgotten,  who  was  nothing 
if  not  sensational,  published,  in  the  London 
Critic,  a  brutally  unjust  article  on  Poe,  charg 
ing  him  with  having  "no  heart,  no  honorable 
feelings,  not  having  even  one  virtue  linked  to 
his  thousand  crimes" ;  denounced  him  as  a 
"combination  of  the  fiend,  the  brute,  and  the 
genius";  declaring  that  "his  tongue  was  set 
afire  of  hell" ;  that  he  "rushed  into  every  ex 
cess  of  riot";  ending  his  monstrous  tirade  of 
lies  by  the  assertion  that  Poe  "caused  the  death 
of  his  wife  that  he  might  have  a  fitting  theme 
for  'The  Raven/  "  repeating  what  a  more  po 
etical,  but  not  more  truthful  writer  had  al 
ready  said — that  the  poet  "deliberately  sought 
his  wife's  death  that  he  might  embalm  her 
memory  in  immortal  dirges."  Gilfillan  did  not 
know  or  care  that  "The  Raven"  was  written 
more  than  a  year  before  the  event  happened 
which  the  poem  was  said  to  commemorate. 

Boyd,  the  "Country  Parson,"  after  calling 
Poe  "a  black  sheep,"  censuring  him  for  his 
"drunken  degradation"  and  "inveterate  self 
ishness,"  coolly  adds  that  he  "starved  his  wife 
and  broke  her  heart."  Why  these  writers 
should  malign  the  unoffending  dead  is 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 


stranger  than  the  fiction  that  they  invented  for 
their  purpose.  We  can  only  account  for  it  upon 
the  supposition  that  slander  loves  a  shining 
mark.  The  splendid  and  ever-increasing  fame 
of  Poe  made  him  a  shining  mark,  and  many, 
who  would  not  have  dared  to  attack  him  while 
he  was  alive,  have  since  his  death  shot  their 
poisoned  arrows  at  him — "Mortuo  leoni  et 
lepores  insultant,"  which  may  be  freely  ren 
dered  "asses  kicking  at  a  dead  lion/' 

Poe's  love  for  his  child-wife,  and  his  devo 
tion  to  her  in  sickness,  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  traits  in  his  character,  remarked  and 
admired  by  all  who  knew  the  poet  and  his  lit 
tle  family.  Even  Griswold,  who  seldom  found 
anything  to  admire  in  Poe,  speaks  of  calling 
upon  the  poet,  once  in  Philadelphia,  and  find 
ing  him  worn  out  from  long  attendance  at  the 
sick  bed  of  his  wife. 

There  js  nothing  sadder  in  romance — noth 
ing  more  pathetic  in  poetry,  nothing  more 
touching  in  real  life,  than  the  deathbed  of  Vir 
ginia  Poe.  She  died  in  midwinter,  and  her 
disease  was  consumption.  The  weather  was 
intensely  cold,  and  the  dying  woman  suffered 
terribly  from  the  chills  that  followed  the  hec 
tic  fever  of  that  insidious  malady.  She  lay 
upon  a  straw  bed,  her  only  covering  being  a 
spread  and  sheets,  no  blankets.  In  this  piti- 

92 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

able  condition,  dying  by  inches,  the  only 
warmth  that  relieved  her  almost  freezing  body 
was  imparted  by  her  husband's  overcoat,  in 
which  she  was  wrapped,  and  a  large  tortoise- 
shell  cat  in  her  bosom.  At  her  head  stood  the 
poet  chafing  her  hands,  while  her  mother 
rubbed  her  feet.  Thus  died,  at  the  early  age 
of  twenty-five,  the  wife  of  the  poet  who  has 
conferred  such  lustre  upon  American  litera 
ture. 

The  lovely  and  gifted  Mrs.  Frances  Sargent 
Osgood,  who  was  a  favorite  visitor  at  the 
home  of  the  poet,  wrote  a  sketch  of  Poe,  a 
few  weeks  before  her  own  early  death,  in 
which  she  said :  "Of  the  charming  confidence 
that  existed  between  Poe  and  his  wife,  I  can 
not  speak  too  earnestly,  too  warmly.  I  be 
lieve  she  was  the  only  woman  he  ever  truly 
loved;  and  this  is  evidenced  by  the  exquisite 
little  poem,  'Annabel  Lee,'  of  which  she  was 
the  subject,  and  which  is  by  far  the  most  ten 
der  and  touchingly  beautiful  of  all  his  songs. 
The  most  lovely  of  its  verses  describes  in  lan 
guage  of  true  poetical  beauty  the  death  of  the 
loved  and  unforgotten  wife: 

The  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsmen  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me.'  " 

93 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

A  more  than  sufficient  answei  to  the  cruel 
and  reckless  assertion  that  Poe  treated  his  wife 
unkindly  is  found  in  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Clemm, 
Virginia's  mother,  loved  her  son-in-law  wkh 
more  than  maternal  devotion,  and  never  de 
serted  him  in  sickness,  in  poverty,  in  distress; 
that  she  fondly  cherished  his  memory  during 
her  life,  and  in  dying,  asked  to  be  buried  by 
the  side  of  her  "darling  Eddie."  I  assert  this 
of  my  own  knowledge. 

After  the  death  of  his  wife,  Poe  became  ac 
quainted  with  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman, 
whom  he  had  previously  seen  and  admired. 
He  first  saw  her,  one  moonlight  night,  when 
he  was  visiting  Providence,  where  she  lived. 
It  was  midnight;  the  poet  was  passing  her 
home,  when  he  saw  her  strolling  in  the  garden. 
She  was  clad  all  in  white.  The  place,  the  hour, 
the  scene,  made  an  immediate  and  indelible 
impression  upon  his  poetical  imagination,  and 
he  related  the  circumstance  in  one  of  his  most 
beautiful  poems,  worthy  of  himself,  of  her, 
and  of  the  most  exalted  passion.  Some  time 
after  this  he  met  her,  and  after  a  short  but 
ardent  courtship,  they  became  engaged,  but  the 
affair  was  broken  off  upon  the  eve  of  the  mar 
riage. 

Mrs.  Whitman  survived  her  poet-lover 
twenty-eight  years.  When  they  parted  for- 

94 


C&e  poe  Cult 

ever,  not  in  sorrow,  or  in  anger,  her  last  words 
were,  "I  love  you."  That  she  loved  him  truly, 
sincerely,  faithfully,  she  proved  during  all  the 
years  that  elapsed  between  his  death  and  hers. 
She  was  his  defender  at  all  times,  and  under 
all  circumstances.  Perhaps  the  most  passion 
ate  poems  ever  penned  by  any  American  poet 
were  inspired  by  the  memory  of  her  dead  but 
un  forgotten  lover. 


95 


cult 


THE  BOYHOOD  OF  EDGAR  A.  POE. 

If,  as  the  poet  says,  the  child  is  father  to  the 
man,  the  strange  and  romantic  story  of  the 
youth  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  must  be  both  interest 
ing  and  instructive  to  readers,  young  and  old. 
Poe's  parents  were  actors,  and  he  was  born 
almost  in  the  greenroom.  His  wanderings, 
which  never  ceased,  began  five  weeks  after  his 
birth,  when  he  was  taken  to  the  home  of  his 
paternal  grandfather  in  Baltimore. 

During  the  next  two  years,  young  Edgar 
accompanied  his  parents  on  their  professional 
tour ;  going  from  city  to  city,  knowing  neither 
the  happiness  nor  the  comforts  of  a  home,  but 
suffering  often  from  cold,  and  sometimes  from 
hunger.  Before  he  was  three  years  old,  he 
was  left  an  orphan  by  the  almost  simultaneous 
death  of  both  of  his  parents,  the  mother  in 
Richmond,  and  the  father  in  Norfolk,  Va. 
Mr.  Allan,  a  rich,  childless  merchant  of  the 
former  city,  attracted  by  the  beauty  and  pre 
cocious  wit  of  the  little  fellow,  adopted  him. 
The  change  which  now  took  place  in  Edgar's 

96 


Cfte  $oe  €<wit 

life  reads  like  a  fairy  tale:  from  poverty,  want, 
and  misery,  he  passed  to  a  home  of  luxury, 
where  he  soon  became  the  idol  of  the  house, 
being  treated  as  a  young  prince,  clothed  in 
velvet,  and  faring  sumptuously  every  day. 
His  proud,  imperious  temper,  instead  of  being 
controlled,  was  encouraged;  his  voice  soon  be 
came  the  law  of  the  house.  The  boy  was 
bright,  clever,  and  fascinating,  and  his  adopted 
father  petted  and  spoiled  him  by  over  indul 
gence,  and  by  unduly  stimulating  his  natural 
gifts.  He  was  early  taught  dancing,  drawing, 
and  dramatic  recitation,  and  before  he  was  six 
years  old,  was  made  a  sort  of  show-child,  be 
ing  brought  into  the  parlor  to  entertain  the 
company  by  reciting  speeches  and  dramatic 
pieces.  This  was  all  wrong,  and  Mr.  Allan, 
while  amusing  his  guests,  was  injuring  the 
boy  for  life. 

When  Edgar  was  sent  to  school,  the  teacher 
was  forbidden  to  punish  him.  Adjoining  the 
play  ground  was  a  vegetable  garden,  which  the 
boys  were  not  allowed  to  enter  under  the  pen 
alty  of  wearing  a  turnip,  carrot,  or  cabbage 
around  the  neck  during  school  hours.  One 
day  Edgar  violated  the  rule,  and  was  com 
pelled  to  wear  one  of  the  vegetables  suspended 
around  his  neck.  After  school,  he  ran  home 
still  wearing  the  obnoxious  carrot,  or  turnip. 

97 


Cult 


Mr.  Allan  was  incensed  that  his  boy  should  be 
treated  so  disrespectfully.  He  went  at  once  to 
the  school,  and,  after  lecturing  the  teacher, 
paid  what  was  due,  and  took  the  child  from 
school. 

Mr.  Allan  passed  part  of  the  Summer  at  the 
White  Sulphur  Springs,  then  as  now  the  most 
fashionable  watering  place  in  the  South.  Here 
young  Edgar  shone  brilliantly  writh  his  fine 
clothes,  his  pony,  his  pocket  money,  his  watch, 
jewelry,  etc.  He  was  allowed  to  take  his  place 
in  the  ball  room,  and  dance  with  the  young 
girls.  Prococious  in  all  things,  he  had  his 
sweethearts  before  he  was  fairly  in  his  teens, 
and  wrote  sentimental  verses  to  his  little  favor 
ites.  Mr.  Allan,  who  saw  good  in  everything 
the  boy  did  at  this  time,  was  delighted  with 
his  rhymes,  and  was  going  to  have  them  pub 
lished,  but  he  was  dissuaded  from  doing  so  by 
a  gentleman  whom  he  consulted  about  the  mat 
ter.  He  told  Mr.  Allan  that  Edgar's  natural 
pride  and  egotism  would  be  injuriously  af 
fected  by  the  appearance  of  his  verses  in  a 
book;  and  so,  the  matter  was  dropped. 

When  Edgar  was  eleven  years  old,  he  was 
placed  in  an  English  and  classical  school. 
Here,  he  soon  became  conspicuous  for  his 
cleverness,  and  without  being  a  close  student, 
his  brilliant  intellectual  gifts,  and  fine  physical 

98 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

qualities,  made  him  by  common  consent  the 
head  of  the  school,  before  he  was  there  three 
years.  In  all  athletic  sports,  he  was  a  perfect 
master;  he  could  run  with  the  swiftness  and 
endurance  of  an  Indian ;  he  was  a  great  leaper ; 
a  good  boxer,  as  one  of  his  old  school  friends 
once  wrote  to  me  "he  was  the  best,  the  most 
daring,  and  most  enduring  swimmer  that  I 
ever  saw  in  the  water."  One  of  his  swimming 
feats  is  still  remembered  in  Richmond.  It  was 
swimming  from  Ludlam's  wharf  to  Warwick 
Bar,  six  miles  down  the  James  River,  on  a 
hot  summer  day.  A  gentleman  of  Richmond 
who  witnessed  the  daring  feat  said  Poe  did  not 
seem  at  all  fatigued,  and  walked  back  to  the 
city  immediately  after  landing.  Poe  was  only 
fifteen  years  old  at  the  time  he  accomplished 
this  aquatic  feat,  which  was  done  against  one 
of  the  strongest  tides  ever  known  in  the  James 
River.  The  boys  of  Richmond  were  proud 
of  their  bold  companion,  and  they  deemed  his 
youthful  exploit  greater  than  Byron's  famous 
feat  of  swimming  across  the  Hellespont.  A 
more  foolish  aquatic  exploit  is  recorded  of 
Poe:  One  winter  day,  he  and  a  companion 
were  standing  on  the  banks  of  the  James  when 
Poe  dared  his  friend  to  jump  in  the  river  and 
swim  to  a  certain  point  with  him.  No  sooner 
said  than  done,  and  the  boys  were  soon  floun- 

99 


Cult 


dering  in  the  half  frozen  water.  Benumbed 
and  exhausted,  they  landed  more  dead  than 
alive,  and  paid  very  dear  for  their  foolish  feat 
by  an  illness  of  several  weeks.  Poe  is  de 
scribed  at  this  time  as  a  haughty,  handsome, 
self-willed,  impetuous,  pugnacious  boy,  always 
ready  to  engage  in  either  mental  or  physical 
fights,  and  generally  coming  off  victorious. 

Had  it  been  the  deliberate  purpose  of  Poe's 
early  friends  to  destroy  his  naturally  fine, 
frank,  generous  disposition,  they  could  not 
have  adopted  better  means  to  accomplish  their 
intention  than  they  did.  While  his  pride  and 
vanity  were  stimulated  his  heart  was  not  cul 
tivated;  although  Mr.  Allan  lavished  his 
money  upon  the  boy,  he  did  not  foster  his  af 
fectionate  disposition,  and  utterly  failed  to 
touch  the  cords  of  sympathy  that  lay  dormant 
in  the  young  orphan's  heart.  That  Edgar  Poe 
was  touched  by  affection  and  appreciated  kind 
ness  is  shown  by  his  gratitude  to  Mrs.  Stan- 
nard.  This  lady  was  the  mother  of  Robert 
Stannard,  one  of  his  friends.  Poe  went  home 
with  him  one  day,  and  Mrs.  Stannard  wel 
comed  him  with  some  kind  and  gracious  words. 
The  heart  of  the  boy  was  touched,  and  from 
that  hour,  Mrs.  Stannard  became,  as  he  him 
self  long  afterward  said:  "The  one  idolat 
rous,  purely  ideal  love  of  my  tempest-tossed 

100 


C  I)  e  19  o  e  Cult 


boyhood."  His  exquisite  lines  "To  Helen/' 
were  inspired  by  the  memory  of  this  lady,  who 
became  the  confidante  of  his  boyish  troubles, 
and  when  she  died  Poe,  who  was  only  fourteen 
at  the  time,  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her 
grave  every  night,  and  passing  hours  in  soli 
tary  vigils. 

Edgar  Poe  wras  brought  up  with  the  expec 
tation  of  inheriting  a  princely  fortune;  every 
youthful  whim  was  indulged,  and  every  ex 
travagant  fancy  encouraged,  but  when  he 
reached  his  twenty-first  year,  he  was  turned 
adrift  upon  the  world  without  a  dollar,  and 
from  that  time  until  his  melancholy  death, 
twenty  years  later,  he  never  earned  a  cent,  ex 
cept  by  his  pen,  and  very  little  by  that,  for  he 
lived  at  a  time  when  literature  was  scarcely 
recognized  as  a  profession.  The  conduct  of 
Mr.  Allan  in  driving  Poe  from  his  house  has 
never  been  satisfactorily  explained,  but  had 
the  author  of  the  Raven  remained  in  the  lux 
urious  home  of  his  youth,  our  country  might 
have  wanted  its  most  remarkable  genius. 


101 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


FOE'S  FEMALE  FRIENDS. 

Edgar  Poe's  life  was  not  all  dark  and  deso 
late.  It  was  his  singular  good  fortune,  from 
his  birth  to  his  death,  to  win  and  hold  the  love 
and  friendship  of  many  sweet  and  sympathetic 
women.  Carlyle  says  the  "story  of  genius  has 
its  bright  sides  as  well  as  dark."  The  bright 
side  of  Poe's  life  was,  as  Washington  Irving 
expresses  it,  when  it  "was  gladdened  by  blessed 
womankind."  The  poet  possessed  many  of 
those  personal  qualities  and  intellectual  gifts 
which  interest  and  fascinate  the  gentle  sex: 
he  was  handsome,  polished,  and  richly  imagi 
native,  and  a  perfect  master  of  all  the  graceful 
refinements  of  language.  Perhaps  there  never 
lived  a  poet  so  truly  appreciative  of  the  love 
liness  of  woman  as  Edgar  Poe.  He  was  a 
worshiper  of  beauty,  believing,  with  a  recent 
poet,  that  of  all  beauty  a  beautiful  woman  is 
the  supremest.  His  was  the  delicate,  ethereal, 
poetical  sentiment  of  the  Greek  worship  of  an 
ideal  beaut)',  so  exquisitely  personified  by  Nau- 
sicaa  in  the  Odyssey. 

102 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

Poe's  female  friends,  with  one  or  two  excep 
tions,  were  women  who  were  able  to  sympa 
thize  with  his  lofty  intellectual  ambition,  able 
to  "point  to  higher  worlds/'  although,  perhaps, 
not  capable  of  "leading  the  way"  for  him  to 
follow.  Proud,  solitary,  and  ambitious,  he 
found  a  never-failing  congeniality  and  sym 
pathy  in  the  society  of  bright  and  lovely 
women,  some  of  whom  almost  realized  the 
creations  of  his  wonderful  imagination:  Li- 
geia,  Morella,  Lenore. 

Mrs.  Allan,  who  adopted  Edgar  Poe  when 
he  was  left  a  homeless  orphan,  was  his  first 
female  friend.  She  always  stood  between  him 
and  her  cold,  stern  husband.  But,  unfortu 
nately,  she  died  just  as  the  young  poet  reached 
his  manhood.  Another  early  friend  of  Poe 
was  Mrs.  Helen  Stannard,  the  mother  of  one 
of  his  schoolmates.  She  died  when  he  was 
fourteen,  and  night  after  night  he  visited  her 
grave,  oppressed  by  the  thought  that  she  was 
lying  there  all  alone.  It  was.  during  those  lone 
some  vigils  that  he  became  fascinated  by  the 
unfathomable  mysteries  of  the  other  world, 
which  impressed  his  whole  life  and  much  of  his 
life  work.  To  his  mind  and  heart,  the  dead, 
although  unseen,  were  ever  present,  seeing, 
knowing,  hearing  him.  Those  midnight 
churchyard  vigils,  with  their  unforgotten 

103 


C6e  poe  Cult 

memories,  furnish  a  key  to  some  of  the 
strange,  mysterious  circumstances  of  his  ex 
traordinary  life.  In  those  silent,  solitary  com 
munions  with  the  beloved  dead,  questions  arose 
in  the  sombre  chambers  of  his  imagination 
which  were  long  afterward  remembered  in  the 
musical  cadences  of  his  stately  verse. 

The  pervading  and  enforcing  spirit  of  some 
of  his  most  wonderful  productions,  prose  and 
verse,  is  the  "awful  mystery  of  death."  Those 
familiar  with  his  writings  wrill  recall  the  sad, 
beautiful  story  of  "Ligeia,"  which  displays 
more  than  any  of  his  remarkable  tales,  "an  im 
agination,  royally  dowered  and  descended." 
So,  also,  in  "Morella,"  the  characters  are  pro 
foundly  interested  in  the  same  mystic  investi 
gation  of  life  and  death,  of  love  that  outlives 
death,  of  death  that  cannot  quench  love.  The 
sombre  mystery  of  the  grave  inspired  the  ex 
quisite  poem,  "The  Sleeper,"  which  tells  in 
words  of  mournful  music  of  a  beautiful 
woman,  coffined  in  her  deep  and  lasting  sleep. 
More  sombre  still  is  the  "Conqueror  Worm," 
which  is  a  wild,  despairing  wail  over  the  hope 
lessness  of  receiving  tidings  of  the  dead.  In 
the  lyric,  "For  Annie,"  the  treatment,  though 
the  subject  is  still  of  the  dead,  is  free  from 
that  dark  despair  which  broods  over  most  of 
his  wonderful  verse.  But,  of  all  the  poetry  in- 

104 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

spired  by  his  grateful  memory  of  Mrs.  Stan- 
nard,  the  best,  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  elo 
quent  is  "Lenore,"  commencing, 

"Ah,  broken  is  the  golden  bowl,  the  spirit  flown  for 
ever  ! 

Let  the  bell  toll !  A  saintly  soul  floats  on  the  Stygian 
river !" 

Another  poem  addressed  to  this  lady  has  a 
still  more  classic  grace.  I  refer  to  the  "Lines 
to  Helen,"  commencing, 

"Helen,  thy  beauty  was  to  me." 

This  dainty  poem  was  written  before  Poe 
had  reached  his  fifteenth  year.  James  Rus 
sell  Lowell  says  these  lines  have  a  grace  and 
symmetry  of  outline  such  as  few  poets  ever 
attain,  and  they  are  valuable  as  displaying 
"what  can  only  be  expressed  by  a  contradictory 
phrase,  innate  experience." 

Thus  some  of  the  most  remarkable  of  Poe's 
poems  were  inspired  by  her  of  whom  he  wrote, 
a  year  or  two  before  his  death :  "As  the  friend 
of  my  boyhood,  the  truest,  tenderest  of  this 
world's  most  womanly  souls,  and  an  angel  to 
my  forlorn  and  darkened  nature." 

In  1836  Poe  married  his  fair  young  cousin, 
Virginia  Clemm.  All  who  knew  Virginia  Poe 
speak  of  her  matchless  beauty  and  loveliness. 
Captain  Mayne  Reid,  who  frequently  visited 
the  family  when  they  were  residing  in  one  of 

105 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


the  suburbs  of  Philadelphia,  described  their 
home  as  small  but  beautified  by  flowers,  en 
livened  by  the  singing  of  birds,  and  illumined 
by  the  presence  of  the  poet's  young  wife,  who 
was  "angelically  beautiful  in  person,  and  not 
less  beautiful  in  spirit.  No  one  who  remembers 
the  dark-eyed  daughter  of  the  South,  her  face 
so  exquisitely  lovely,  her  gentle,  graceful  de 
meanor,  no  one  who  has  spent  an  hour  in  her 
society,  but  will  endorse  what  I  have  said  of 
this  lady,  who  was  the  most  delicate  realiza 
tion  of  the  poet's  ideal.  But,  the  bloom  upon 
her  cheek  was  too  pure,  too  bright,  for  earth. 
It  was  consumption's  color — that  sadly  beauti 
ful  light  beckons  to  an  early  grave." 

The  tender  grace  of  the  love  of  Edgar  and 
Virginia  Poe  inspired  his  exquisite  ballad, 
"Annabel  Lee,"  of  which  she  was  the  heroine. 
Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  and  suggest 
ive  than  these  lines: 

"A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsmen  came, 

And  bore  her  away  from  me." 

Edgar  Poe  was  a  very  domestic  man,  and 
found  his  best  and  truest  happiness  in  the  so 
ciety  of  his  wife  and  mother,  who  loved  him 
devotedly  and  never  lost  confidence  in  him. 

106 


C&e  poe  Cult 


He  was  seldom  away  from  home  for  an  hour, 
unless  his  darling  Virginia  or  Mrs.  Clemm  was 
with  him,  except  when  engaged  in  his  literary 
pursuits.  "The  three  lived  one  for  the  other," 
said  Mrs.  Clemm.  Poe's  devotion  to  his  deli 
cate  wife  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  traits 
in  his  character,  and  her  death  at  the  early  age 
of  twenty-five  was  the  greatest  grief  of  his 
life.  It  was  in  memory  of  her  that  he  wrote 
his  weird  requiem  of  "Ulalume,"  a  poem  that 
has  pleased  and  puzzled  alike  the  most  thought 
ful  and  imaginative  minds. 

The  unceasing  love  and  devotion  of  Mrs. 
Clemm  to  Edgar  Poe — a  devotion  that  outlived 
the  life  of  the  poet's  wife,  a  love  that  only 
ended  with  Mrs.  Clemm's  death — was  the 
natural  result  of  his  love  and  devotion  to  her 
daughter.  To  Mrs.  Clemm  he  addressed  a  son 
net  showing  his  appreciation  of  her  great  kind 
ness  and  unfailing  patience  and  sweetness  of 
disposition.  The  last  lines  are  particularly 
beautiful : 

"My  mother — my  own  mother — who  died  early, 
Was  but  the  mother  of  myself;  but  you 

Are  mother  to  the  one  I  loved  so  dearly, 

And  thus  are  dearer  than  the  mother  whom  I  knew, 

By  that  infinity  with  which  my  wife 
Is  dearer  to  my  soul  than  its  soul-life." 

107 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

Soon  after  the  publication  of  "The  Raven" 
Poe  met  a  lady  who  was  destined  to  exercise 
a  good  and  powerful  influence  over  his  life. 
This  lady  was  Mrs.  Sargent  Osgood,  one  of 
the  most  gifted  and  impassioned  poets  of  the 
decade  of  American  literature  between  1840 
and  1850.  She  has  furnished  a  very  interest 
ing  account  of  her  first  meeting  with  Poe: 

"My  first  meeting  with  the  poet  was  at  the 
Astor  House.  A  few  days  previous  Mr.  Willis 
handed  me,  at  the  table  d'hote,  that  strange 
and  thrilling  poem,  'The  Raven/  saying  that 
the  author  wanted  my  opinion  of  it.  Its  effect 
upon  me  was  so  singular,  so  like  that  of  'weird, 
unearthly  music/  that  it  was  with  a  feeling 
almost  of  dread  that  I  heard  that  he  desired 
an  introduction.  Yet  I  could  not  refuse  with 
out  seeming  ungrateful,  because  I  had  just 
heard  of  his  enthusiastic  and  partial  eulogy 
of  my  writings,  in  his  lecture  on  American 
Literature.  I  shall  never  forget  the  morning 
when  I  was  summoned  to  the  drawing  room  to 
receive  him.  With  his  proud  and  beautiful 
head  erect,  his  dark  eyes  flashing  with  the 
electric  light  of  feeling  and  thought,  a  peculiar 
and  indescribable  blending  of  hauteur  and 
sweetness  in  his  expression  and  manner,  he 
greeted  me  calmly,  gravely,  almost  coldly — yet 
with  so  marked  an  earnestness  that  I  could  not 

108 


C6e  Poe  Cult 

help  feeling  deeply  impressed  by  it.    From  that 
moment  until  his  death  we  were  friends." 

In  another  communication  Mrs.  Osgood 
speaks  of  her  "affectionate  interest"  in  the 
poet,  adding: 

"I  think  no  one  knew  him,  no  one  has  knowrn 
him  personally — certainly  no  woman — with 
out  feeling  the  same  interest.  I  can  sincerely 
say  that  I  have  never  seen  him  otherwise  than 
gentle,  generous,  well-bred,  and  fastidiously 
refined.  To  a  sensitive  and  delicately  nurtured 
woman,  there  was  a  peculiar  and  irresistible 
charm  in  the  chivalry,  grace,  and  almost  rever 
ence  with  which  he  approached  all  women  who 
won  his  respect.  It  was  this  which  first  won 
and  always  retained  my  regard  for  him." 

Mrs.  Osgood  furnishes  a  charming  glimpse 
of  the  poet  in  his  own  home,  sitting  beneath  the 
romantic  picture  of  his  lost  Lenore,  spending 
hour  after  hour  in  literary  composition,  trac 
ing  in  the  most  exquisite  hand  ever  written  by 
poet  the  rare  and  radiant  fancies  as  they 
flashed  through  his  wonderful  brain.  She  de 
scribes  a  visit  at  his  house  toward  the  close  of 
his  residence  in  New  York,  when  he  seemed 
unusually  gay  and  light-hearted.  Mrs.  Os 
good' s  narrative  runs  as  follows: 

"Virginia,  his  sweet  wife,  had  written  me  a 
pressing  invitation  to  come  to  them — and  I 

109 


oe  Cult 


who  never  could  resist  her  affectionate  sum 
mons,  and  who  enjoyed  his  society  far  more  in 
his  own  house  than  elsewhere,  hastened  to 
Amity  Street.  I  found  him  just  completing 
his  series  of  papers  entitled  'The  Literati  of 
New  York/  'See/  said  he,  displaying  in 
laughing  triumph  several  little  rolls  of  narrow 
paper,  'I  am  going  to  show  you,  by  the  differ 
ence  in  length  of  these,  the  different  degrees  of 
estimation  in  which  I  hold  all  you  literary  peo 
ple.  In  each  of  these,  one  of  you  is  rolled  up 
and  fully  discussed.  Come,  Virginia,  help 
me!'  And  one  by  one  they  unfolded  them.  At 
last  they  came  to  one  that  seemed  interminable. 
Virginia,  laughing,  ran  to  the  side  of  the  room 
with  one  end,  and  her  husband  to  the  opposite 
with  the  other.  'And  whose  linked  sweetness 
long  drawn  out  is  this?'  said  I.  'Hear  her!' 
he  cried,  'just  as  if  her  vain  little  heart  didn't 
tell  her  it's  herself.' ' 

Mrs.  Osgood's  friendship  for  the  poet  lasted 
until  his  death,  and  she  survived  him  only 
seven  months.  In  the  last  edition  of  her 
poems  is  one  inspired  by  her  friendship  for 
Poe.  I  quote  the  last  verse: 

"Love's  silver  lyre  he  played  so  well 

Lies  shattered  on  his  tomb; 
But  still  in  air  its  music  spell 

Floats  on  through  light  and  gloom; 

no 


Cfie  poe  Cult 


And  in  the  hearts  where  soft  they  fell 
His  words  of  beauty  bloom 

Forevermore." 

Mrs.  Osgood  was  worthy  of  Poe's  enthusi 
astic  admiration :  her  mind  and  heart,  her  face 
and  figure,  were  alike  exquisite.  She  was  of 
medium  height,  slender,  dainty,  and  grace 
ful  ;  her  eyes  were  large,  luminous,  and  full  of 
expression;  her  complexion  was  pale,  and  of 
fered  a  striking  contrast  to  her  dark  hair ;  her 
features  were  refined  and  her  whole  appear 
ance  possessed  a  rare,  delicate  beauty,  which 
was  both  interesting  and  charming.  No  per 
son  can  look  upon  the  face  of  this  lady,  a  face 
glowing  with  enthusiasm  and  a  dreamy,  trop 
ical  sunshine,  and  wonder  that  a  man  of  Poe's 
deep  and  earnest  feeling,  a  man  of  his  passion 
ate  appreciation  of  beauty  and  genius,  should 
have  been  so  prodigal  and  eloquent  in  his  praise 
of  her  person  and  poetry. 

Soon  after  Poe  moved  to  Fordham,  in  the 
summer  of  1846,  he  became  acquainted  with 
Mary  Louise  Shew.  The  poet's  wife  was  dy 
ing  of  consumption,  and  the  anxiety  caused  by 
her  sickness  prevented  him  from  engaging  in 
any  literary  work;  thus  his  only  source  of  in 
come  was  cut  off.  The  situation  of  the  little 
household  grew  worse  and  worse  every  day, 

in 


C&e  poe  Cult 


and  absolute  starvation  threatened  them.  At 
this  critical  moment  Mrs.  Shew's  kind  offices 
were  enlisted  in  their  behalf ;  she  raised  money, 
bought  comforts  for  the  dying  wife,  and  be 
came  the  ministering  angel  of  the  family. 

After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Poe,  Mrs.  Shew 
continued  her  gentle  charity  to  the  stricken 
members  of  the  Fordham  cottage.  It  was 
chiefly  through  her  exertions  that  a  purse  of 
one  hundred  dollars  was  raised  at  the  Union 
Club  of  New  York.  Among  the  contributors 
was  Gen.  Winfield  Scott,  who  said,  "true- 
hearted  Americans  should  take  care  of  their 
poets  as  well  as  of  their  soldiers/' 

Mrs.  Estelle  Anna  Lewis,  who  is  known  in 
the  literary  world  as  "Stella,"  was  another 
kind  friend  who  assisted  Poe  at  this  time  of 
his  greatest  need.  This  lady — author  of  the 
imaginative  poem,  "Records  of  the  Heart/'  and 
other  poetical  works,  including  "The  Child  of 
the  Sea,"  which  Poe  mentioned  as  "strikingly 
original"  and  "warmly  imaginative" — was  one 
of  the  last  and  truest  friends  the  poet  ever 
had.  He  himself  said  that  he  had  for  her  the 
"affection  of  a  brother."  Mrs.  Lewis  wrote: 

"I  saw  much  of  Mr.  Poe  during  the  last  year 
of  his  life.  He  was  one  of  the  most  sensitive 
and  refined  gentleman  I  ever  met.  My  girlish 
poem,  "The  Forsaken,"  made  us  acquainted. 

112 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

He  had  seen  it  floating  the  rounds  of  the  press, 
and  wrote  to  tell  me  how  much  he  liked  it— 
'It  is  inexpressibly  beautiful/  he  said,  'and  I 
should   very  much   like   to  know   the   young 
author/ ' 

The  day  before  Poe  left  New  York  for 
Richmond  (June  30,  1849),  ne  and  Mrs. 
Clemm  dined  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lewis  and 
stayed  at  their  house  all  night.  The  latter,  in 
giving  an  account  of  this  last  visit,  said: 

"Mr.  Poe  seemed  very  sad  and  retired  early. 
On  leaving  the  next  day,  he  took  my  hand  in 
his,  and  said,  'Dear  Stella,  my  much  beloved 
friend,  I  have  a  presentiment  that  I  shajl  never 
see  you  again.  If  I  never  return,  write  my 
life.  You  can  and  will  do  me  justice/  ' 

Mrs.  Lewis  promised,  and  they  parted  to 
meet  no  more  in  this  life. 

The  name  of  Sarah  Helen  Whitman  will  be 
forever  associated  with  the  name  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe,  as  that  of  the  woman  he  most  passion 
ately  loved  during  life,  and  who  most  jeal 
ously  guarded  and  defended  his  memory  when 
he  was  dead.  Their  names  will  be  linked  to 
gether  like  the  name  of  Surrey  and  the  Fair 
Geraldine,  Byron  and  Mary  Chaworth,  Burns 
and  Highland  Mary.  It  is  well  known  that 
after  the  death  of  his  child-wife,  Virginia 
Clemm,  Poe,  seeking  "surcease  of  sorrow  for 


Cfee  poe  Cult 


his  lost  Lenore,"  become  engaged  to  Mrs. 
Whitman.  Of  this  short-lived  engagement  it 
has  been  said:  "It  opened  a  prospect  of  hap 
piness — even  for  him,  the  desolate  and  de 
spairing.  Like  the  gleam  of  the  light  that 
cheered  Sinbad  in  the  Cave  of  Death  and  re 
stored  him  to  life,  did  this  engagement  hold 
out  a  saving  hope  to  the  soul  of  the  unhappy 
master  of  'The  Raven/  and  promise  to  re 
store  him  once  again  to  love." 

Mrs.  Whitman  was  the  very  type  of  woman 
to  interest  such  a  man  as  Poe.  Dr.  W.  E. 
Anthony,  of  Providence,  R.  I.,  who  knew  her, 
has  furnished  me  with  a  sketch  of  Mrs.  Whit 
man.  He  says  her  nature  was  essentially 
feminine,  having  a  great  personal  magnetism; 
her  conversation  was  replete  with  wit,  imagi 
nation  and  sentiment.  She  had  a  beautiful,  in 
tellectual  face,  a  fine  figure,  and  a  brilliant 
complexion.  She  always  wore  one  style  of 
dress,  winter  and  summer,  year  in  and 
year  out.  It  was  strikingly  original  and 
set  off  her  personal  charms  to  the  best  ad 
vantage.  A  profusion  of  curls  fell  over  her 
exquisitely  shaped  forehead,  while  over  the 
back  of  her  head  was  thrown  a  white  veil, 
which  fell  to  her  shoulders.  She  received  visi 
tors  in  a  room  lighted  by  rose-colored  lamps, 
and  the  room  seemed  a  shrine  and  she  a  sibyl. 

114 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

To  win  the  hand  of  this  woman  seemed  to 
Poe  his  last  chance  to  reestablish  his  desolate 
home,  and  he  pleaded  with  such  passionate 
ardor,  such  burning  eloquence,  such  irresist- 
able  love,  that,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of 
her  mother  and  the  warnings  of  her  friends, 
Mrs.  Whitman  engaged  herself  to  him.  Hav 
ing  won  this  advantage,  he  urged  an  immediate 
marriage.  Again  she  yielded  to  his  passionate 
pleading,  and  late  in  November  he  arrived  in 
Providence  full  qf  anticipation  of  happiness. 
When  he  called  upon  Mrs.  Whitman,  that  lady 
met  him,  and,  as  she  herself  relates: 

"Gathering  together  some  papers  which  he 
had  intrusted  to  my  keeping,  I  placed  them  in 
his  hands  without  a  word  of  explanation  or 
reproach,  and,  utterly  worn  out  and  exhausted 
by  the  mental  conflicts  and  anxieties  of  the 
last  few  days,  I  drenched  my  handkerchief 
with  ether  and  threw  myself  on  a  sofa,  hoping 
to  lose  myself  in  utter  unconsciousness.  Sink 
ing  upon  his  knees  beside  me,  he  entreated  me 
to  speak  to  him.  I  responded  almost  inaudibly, 
'What  can  I  say?'  'Say  that  you  love  me, 
Helen/  7  love  you.'  These  were  the  last 
words  I  ever  spoke  to  him/' 

Poe  left  the  house  without  another  word, 
and  never  saw  Mrs.  Whitman  again.  The 
breaking  off  of  this  famous  engagement  gave 


oe  Cult 


rise  to  all  sorts  of  rumors,  the  most  scandalous 
of  which  Rufus  W.  Griswold  enlarged  and 
embellished.  Mrs.  Whitman  denied  Gris- 
wold's  story,  as  shown  in  "The  Truth  about 
Edgar  Allan  Poe/'  printed  later  on  in  this 
work. 

Mrs.  Whitman  died  on  the  27th  of  June, 
1878,  in  the  seventy-sixth  year  of  her  age. 
She  was  a  believer  in  spiritualism,  and,  at  her 
funeral,  instead  of  religious  service,  several 
of  her  friends  pronounced  eulogies.  Over  her 
casket  was  thrown  a  white  drapery,  in  the 
folds  of  which  were  green  ivy  leaves.  Her 
grave  was  lined  with  laurel  and  evergreens, 
and  each  friend  dropped  flowers;  and  thus  in 
love  and  tender  sympathy  the  last  gentle 
service  was  rendered  to  the  last  of  Poe's 
Female  Friends. 


116 


Clje  poe  Cult 


POE  AND  MRS.  WHITMAN. 

Burns'  Highland  Mary,  Petrarch's  Laura, 
and  other  real  and  imaginary  loves  of  the 
poets,  have  been  immortalized  in  song,  but 
we  doubt  whether  any  of  the  numerous  objects 
of  poetical  adoration  were  more  worthy  of 
honor  than  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  the 
friend  and  defender  of  Edgar  A.  Poe.  That 
he  should  have  inspired  so  deep  and  lasting  a 
love  in  the  heart  of  so  true  and  pure  a  woman 
would  alone  prove  that  he  was  not  the  social 
pariah  his  vindictive  enemies  have  held  up  to 
the  world's  wonder  and  detestation.  The  poet's 
love  for  Mrs.  Whitman  was  the  one  gleam  of 
hope  that  cheered  the  last  sad  years  of  his 
life.  His  letters  to  her  breathed  the  most  pas 
sionate  devotion  and  the  most  enthusiastic 
admiration.  One  eloquent  extract  from  his 
love  letters  to  Mrs.  Whitman  will  suffice.  In 
response  to  a  passage  in  one  of  her  letters  in 
which  she  says,  "How  often  have  I. heard  men, 
and  even  women,  say  of  you,  'He  has  great  in 
tellectual  power,  but  no  principle,  no  moral 

117 


Cfie  poe  Cult 

sense !'  He  exclaims,  'I  love  you  too  truly  ever 
to  have  offered  you  my  hand,  even  to  have 
sought  your  love,  had  I  known  my  name  to  be 
so  stained  as  your  expressions  imply.  There 
is  no  oath  which  seems  to  me  so  sacred  as  that 
sworn  by  the  all-divine  love  I  bear  you.  By 
this  love,  then,  and  by  the  God  who  reigns  in 
heaven,  I  swear  to  you  that  my  soul  is  in 
capable  of  dishonor.  I  can  call  to  mind  no  act 
of  my  life  which  would  bring  a  blush  to  my 
cheek  or  to  yours/  ' 

Why  the  engagement  was  broken,  and  by 
whom,  still  remains  buried  in  mystery,  but  that 
Poe  was  guilty  of  any  "outrage"  at  her  house 
upon  the  eve  of  their  intended  marriage  was 
emphatically  denied  by  Mrs.  Whitman.  She 
pronounced  the  whole  story  a  "calumny."  In 
a  letter  before  me  she  says:  "I  do  not  think 
it  possible  to  overstate  the  gentlemanly  re 
ticence  and  amenity  of  his  habitual  manner. 
It  was  stamped  through  and  through  with  the 
impress  of  nobility  and  gentleness.  I  have 
seen  him  in  many  moods  and  phases  in  those 
'lonesome  latter  years'  which  were  rapidly 
merging  into  the  mournful  tragedy  of  death. 
I  have  seen  him  sullen  and  moody  under  a 
sense  of  insult  and  imaginary  wrong.  I  have 
never  seen  in  him  the  faintest  indication  of 
savagery  and  rowdyism  and  brutality." 

118 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


Some  of  the  most  tenderly  passionate  of 
Mrs.  Whitman's  verses  were  inspired  by  her 
affection  for  Poe.  She  wrote  six  sonnets  to 
his  memory,  overflowing  with  the  most  ex 
alted  love  and  generous  sympathy.  The  first 
of  these  sonnets  ends  thus : 

"Thou  wert  my  destiny :  thy  song,  thy  fame, 

The  wild  enchantments  clustering  round  thy  name, 

Were  my  soul's  heritage— its  regal  dower, 
Its  glory,  and  its  kingdom,  and  its  power. 

In  one  of  Mrs.  Whitman's  letters,  now  lying 
before  me,  she  says :  "So  much  has  been  writ 
ten,  and  so  much  still  continues  to  be  writ 
ten,  about  Poe  by  persons  who  are  either  his 
avowed  or  secret  enemies,  that  I  joyfully  wel 
come  every  friendly  or  impartial  word  spoken 
in  his  behalf.  His  enemies  are  uttering  their 
venomous  fabrications  in  every  newspaper, 
and  so  few  voices  can  obtain  a  hearing  in  his 
defense.  My  own  personal  knowledge  of  Mr. 
Poe  was  very  brief,  although  it  comprehended 
memorable  incidents,  and  was  doubtless,  as  he 
kindly  characterized  it  in  one  of  his  letters  of 
the  period,  'the  most  earnest  epoch  of  his  life;' 
and  such  I  believe  it  to  have  been.  You  ask 
me  to  furnish  you  with  extracts  from  his  let 
ters,  literary  or  otherwise.  There  are  impera 
tive  reasons  why  these  letters  cannot  and 
ought  not  be  published  at  present — not  that 

119 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

there  was  a  word  or  a  thought  in  them  dis 
creditable  to  Poe,  though  some  of  them  were 
imprudent,  doubtless,  and  liable  to  be  con 
strued  wrongly  by  his  enemies.  They  are  for 
the  most  part  strictly  personal.  The  only  ex 
tract  from  them  of  which  I  have  authorized 
the  publication  is  a  fac  simile  of  a  paragraph 
inserted  between  the  68th  and  6gth  pages  of 
Mr.  Ingram's  memoir  in  Black's  (Edinburgh) 
edition  of  the  complete  works  of  Poe.  The 
paragraph  in  the  original  letter  (dated  Nov. 
24,  1848)  consists  of  only  eight  lines:  'The 
agony  which  I  have  so  lately  endured — an 
agony  known  only  to  my  God  and  myself — 
seems  to  have  passed  my  soul  through  fire, 
and  purified  it  from  all  that  is  weak.  Hence 
forward  I  am  strong:  this  those  who  love  me 
shall  see,  as  well  as  those  who  have  relent 
lessly  endeavored  to  ruin  me.  It  only  needed 
some  such  trials  as  I  have  just  undergone  to 
make  me  what  I  was  born  to  be  by  making  me 
conscious  of  my  own  strength.'  This  was  a 
protest  against  the  charges  of  indifference  to 
moral  obligations  so  often  urged  against  him, 
which  I  permitted  Mr.  Gill  to  extract  for  pub 
lication  from  a  long  letter  filled  with  eloquent 
and  proud  remonstrance  against  the  injustice 
of  such  a  charge,  are  the  only  passages  of 
which  I  have  authorized  the  publication. 

120 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


Other  letters  have  been  published  without  my 
consent.  I  have  endeavored  to  reconcile  my 
self  to  the  unauthorized  use  of  private  letters 
and  papers,  since  the  effect  of  their  publica 
tion  has  been  on  the  whole  regarded  as  favor 
able  to  Poe." 

It  was  Mrs.  Whitman  who  first  attempted 
to  trace  Edgar  Poe's  descent  from  the  old  Nor 
man  family  of  Le  Poer,  which  emigrated  to 
Ireland  during  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  of  Eng 
land.  Lady  Blessington,  through  her  father, 
Edmund  Power,  claimed  the  same  illustrious 
descent.  The  Le  Poers  were  distinguished  for 
being  improvident,  daring  and  reckless.  The 
family  originally  belonged  to  Italy,  whence 
they  passed  to  the  north  of  France,  and  went 
to  England  with  William  the  Conqueror. 

When  Stephane  Mallarme,  an  enthusias 
tic  admirer  of  Poe,  undertook  to  translate 
his  works  into  French,  he  addressed  Mrs. 
Whitman  in  a  complimentary  letter,  from 
which  the  following  passages  are  translated: 
''Whatever  is  done  to  honor  the  memory  of  a 
genius,  the  most  truly  divine  the  world  has 
seen,  ought  it  not  first  to  obtain  your  sanc 
tion?  Such  of  Poe's  works  as  our  great 
Beaudelaire  left  untranslated — that  is  to  say, 
the  poems  and  many  of  the  literary  criticisms 
— I  hope  to  make  known  to  France.  My  first 

121 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


attempt,  'Le  Corbeau/  of  which  I  send  you  a 
specimen,  is  intended  to  attract  attention  to  a 
future  work  now  nearly  completed.  I  trust 
that  the  attempt  will  meet  your  approval,  but 
no  possible  success  of  my  future  design  could 
cause  you,  Madam,  a  satisfaction  equal  to  the 
joy,  vivid,  profound  and  absolute,  caused  by 
an  extract  from  one  of  your  letters  in  which 
you  expressed  a  wish  to  see  a  copy  of  my  'Cor- 
beau/  Not  only  in  space — which  is  nothing — 
but  in  time,  made  up  for  each  of  us  of  the 
hours  we  deem  most  memorable  in  the  past, 
your  wish  seemed  to  come  to  me  from  so  far, 
and  to  bring  with  it  the  most  delicious  return 
of  long  cherished  memories;  for,  fascinated 
with  the  works  of  Poe  from  my  infancy,  it 
has  been  a  long  time  that  your  name  has  been 
associated  with  his  in  my  earliest  and  most 
intimate  sympathies.  Receive,  Madam,  this 
expression  of  gratitude  such  as  your  poetical 
soul  may  comprehend,  for  it  is  my  inmost  heart 
that  thanks  you." 


122 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 


THE  LOVES  OF  EDGAR  A.  POE. 

The  splendid  fame  that  has  crowned  the 
name  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  within  the  memory  of 
living-  men  has  made  him  one  of  the  most  in 
teresting  personalities,  not  only  in  American 
Literature,  but  in  the  literature  of  the  world. 
Proudly  conscious  of  his  rare  and  remark 
able  genius,  the  author  of  The  Raven  mingled 
in  a  cold  and  unsympathetic  world  with  a 
haughty  defiance.  But,  beneath  that  stern  and 
cynical  exterior,  was  a  heart  full  of  romantic 
sentiment,  and  quickly  responsive  to  kindness 
and  affection. 

Poe,  himself,  was  the  offspring  of  a  roman 
tic  marriage  between  a  young  actress  and  a 
Baltimore  law  student,  and  he  proved  himself 
a  worthy  son  of  his  parents.  Before  he  had 
completed  his  sixteenth  year,  he  wooed  and 
won  the  heart  of  a  young  girl  in  Richmond 
who  was  destined  to  be  his  first  and  his  last 
love,  also.  Elmira  Royster  was  the  fair 
daughter  of  one  of  the  proudest  families  of 
the  Old  Dominion,  and  Poe,  although  the  son 
of  a  poor  player  (poor  in  every  respect),  was 

123 


C6e  Poe  Cult 

the  recognized  peer  of  the  best  in  Virginia's 
capital.  Years  afterwards,  the  poet,  speaking 
of  youthful  love,  quotes  the  assertion  of 
George  Sand  that  "les  anges  ne  sont  plus  pures 
que  le  coeur  d'  un  jeune  homme  qui  aime  en 
verite,"  and  remarks  that  it  would  be  truth 
itself  were  it  averred  of  the  love  of  him  who 
is  at  the  same  time  young  and  a  poet.  He 
cites  the  boyish  love  of  Byron  for  Mary  Cha- 
worth  which  affected  the  whole  subsequent  life 
of  the  noble  bard,  adding,  "she  to  him  was  the 
Egeria  of  his  dreams — the  Venus  Aphrodite 
that  sprang,  in  full  and  supernal  loveliness, 
from  the  bright  foam  upon  the  storm-tor 
mented  ocean  of  his  thoughts."  Miss  Royster 
lived  opposite  to  Poe's  home  in  Richmond,  and, 
naturally,  they  became  acquainted — an  ac 
quaintance  which  soon  ripened  into  mutual 
love. 

This  youthful  love  affair  continued  until 
Poe  left  Richmond  for  the  University  of  Vir 
ginia.  They  agreed  to  keep  up  a  frequent  cor 
respondence  during  their  separation,  but  the 
father  of  the  young  lady,  who  disapproved  of 
the  affair,  intercepted  his  letters. 

He  hastened  to  marry  his  daughter  to  a 
more  desirable  husband.  It  was  not  until  a 
year  or  two  after  she  became  Mrs.  Shelton 
that  Poe  learned  why  his  passionate  love  let- 

124 


C6e  Poe  Cult 

ters  received  no  answer  from  his  sweetheart. 
The  effect  of  this  boyish  attachment  is  per 
ceptible  in  many  of  the  poet's  juvenile  verses. 

Long  years  after  the  death  of  her  poet-lover, 
Mrs.  Shelton  recalled  him  as  "a  beautiful 
boy;"  quiet,  agreeable,  but  sad-mannered; 
"full  of  strong  prejudices,  and  passionately 
fond,  even  in  those  early  days,  of  everything 
beautiful  and  having  a  natural  invincible  de 
testation  of  everything  coarse  and  unrefined." 
He  drew  beautifully;  "he  drew  a  pencil  like 
ness  of  me  in  a  few  minutes."  He  was,  also, 
very  fond  of  music.  "Edgar,"  continues  the 
lady,  "was  very  generous,  and  warm  and  zeal 
ous  in  any  cause  he  was  interested  in,  being 
enthusiastic  and  impulsive." 

When  Poe's  adopted  father,  John  Allan,  a 
wealthy  merchant  of  Richmond,  drove  him 
from  the  only  home  he  had  known  for  twenty- 
two  years,  the  outcast  was  received  into  the 
family  of  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Marie  Clemm,  in 
Baltimore,  and,  until  his  unhappy  life  ended, 
his  home  was  with  her,  whether  in  Richmond, 
Baltimore,  Philadelphia  or  New  York. 

Mrs.  Clemm  was  the  daughter  of  Gen. 
David  Poe,  whose  services  and  sacrifices  in 
the  American  Revolution  entitled  him  to  the 
respect  of  his  countrymen.  His  daughter  was 
poor,  but  she  gave  "Eddie,"  as  she  always 

125 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

called  the  poet,  a  home  rich  in  love.  Her  only 
child,  Virginia,  was  at  that  time  a  lovely  girl 
of  about  ten  years  old.  Poe  became  her 
teacher.  They  were  both  young,  and  daily 
and  hourly  together.  Naturally,  they  fell  in 
love  with  each  other.  Upon  their  youthful 
love,  Poe  founded  one  of  his  early  tales, 
"Leonora,"  the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  in  the 
Valley  of  the  Many-colored  Grass.  He  de 
scribes  the  "sweet  recesses  of  the  vale;"  the 
"Deep  and  narrow  river,  brighter  than  all  save 
the  eyes  of  Eleonora;"  "the  soft,  green  grass, 
besprinkled  with  yellow  buttercup,  the  white 
daisy,  the  purple  violet,  and  the  ruby-red 
asphodel — all  so  beautiful  that  it  spoke  to  our 
hearts  of  the  love  and  glory  of  God."  Here 
they  "lived  all  alone,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
world  without  the  valley — 7,  and  rny  cousin 
and  her  mother."  "The  loveliness  of  Eleonora 
was  that  of  the  seraphim,  and  she  was  a 
maiden  artless  and  innocent  as  the  brief  life 
she  had  led  among  the  flowers;  no  guile  dis 
guised  the  fervor  of  love  which  animated  her 
heart." 

In  1835,  Poe  was  appointed  editor  of  the 
Southern  Literary  Messenger,  a  magazine 
which  had  been  started  in  Richmond  a  short 
time  before.  Under  his  management  the  Mes- 

126 


C&e  Poe  Cult 


senger  soon  gained  a  national  reputation,  and 
within  one  year  its  circulation  increased  from 
seven  hundred  to  five  thousand,  which  was  a 
large  circulation  for  a  magazine  sixty  years 
ago.  But,  in  the  midst  of  his  brilliant  literary 
success,  Poe  felt  most  painfully  his  absence 
from  her  who  had  been  his  companion  for  four 
years.  During  all  these  years  he  had  watched 
her  as  she  grew  more  lovely,  more  charming, 
more  interesting,  and  now  when  he  wished  to 
make  her  his  wife,  she  was  two  hundred  miles 
away.  He  became  depressed,  morbid,  melan 
choly.  At  his  solicitation,  Mrs.  Clemm  re 
moved  to  Richmond  with  her  daughter,  and, 
on  the  1 6th  of  May,  1836,  he  was  married  to 
his  cousin,  she  being  not  quite  fourteen  years 
old.  The  rest  of  that  year  was  perhaps  the 
brightest  and  happiest  of  Poe's  life.  His 
salary,  indeed,  was  small  ($15.00  a  week),  but 
it  afforded  sufficient  support  for  the  little 
family.  Mrs.  Clemm  was  a  wonderful  mana 
ger,  and  proved  the  truth  of  Goethe's  saying 
that  beauty  is  cheap  when  taste  is  the  pur 
chaser. 

I  have  told  the  story  of  Poe's  married  life 
in  another  article — of  his  perfect  devotion  in 
sickness  and  in  health — of  his  sorrow  and 
desolation  when  a  cruel  death  took  her  from 
him  forever.  One  who  knew  the  family  well 

127 


Cult 


describes  Virginia  a  year  or  two  after  her 
marriage  as  possessing  a  matchless  beauty  and 
loveliness;  her  eyes  were  as  bright  as  any 
houri;  and  her  face  defied  the  genius  of 
Canova  to  imitate.  Added  to  the  charms  of 
person  was  a  disposition  of  surpassing  sweet 
ness.  The  tender  love  and  devotion  existing 
between  the  poet  and  his  beautiful  young  wife 
was  remarked  by  all  who  knew  them.  Poe's 
unhappiness  was  inborn,  and  came  not  from 
any  domestic  cause,  for  both  Mrs.  Clemm  and 
her  daughter  cared  for  him  as  though  he  were 
a  child.  They  spared  him  all  those  little  per 
sonal  matters  which  annoy  sensitive  people. 
They  selected  his  collars  and  cravats,  his 
gloves  and  cuffs.  He  was  always  neatly 
dressed ;  Mrs.  Clemm  told  me  he  preferred  for 
ordinary  wear  a  dark-gray  suit,  with  a  turn 
down  collar  and  black  cravat.  She  said  she 
had  often  heard  Eddie  declare  that  he  never 
saw  any  person  so  beautiful  as  his  own  sweet 
little  wife.  He  did  not  know,  at  that  time,  that 
Virginia's  beauty  was  of  that  fatal  kind  which 
consumption  imparts  to  its  victim,  and  that 
"she  had  been  made  perfect  in  loveliness  only 
to  die."  In  a  letter  written  to  her  relative, 
the  late  Judge  Neilson  Poe,  Mrs.  Clemm  gives 
some  interesting  details  of  the  domestic  life 
of  the  poet. 

128 


C6e  poe  Cult 


"Eddie  was  domestic  in  all  his  habits,  sel 
dom  leaving  home  for  an  hour  unless  his 
darling  Virginia  or  myself  were  with  him. 
He  was  truly  an  affectionate,  kind  husband, 
and  a  devoted  son  to  me.  He  was  impulsive, 
generous,  affectionate,  noble.  His  tastes  were 
very  simple,  and  his  admiration  for  all  that 
was  good  and  beautiful  very  great.  We  three 
lived  only  for  each  other." 

Theodore  Parker  said  that  every  man  of 
genius  has  to  hew  out  for  himself,  from  the 
hard  marble  of  life,  the  white  statue  of  Tran 
quillity.  Applying  this  to  Poe,  Mrs.  Whit 
man  with  all  her  womanly  sympathy  asked  the 
world  to  look  with  pity  and  reverent  awe  upon 
the  unhappy  poet's  efforts  to  achieve  that 
beautiful  and  august  statue  of  Peace.  She  re 
marks  further  that  one  clear  glance  into  the 
corridors  of  his  life — "its  halls  of  tragedy  and 
chambers  of  retribution,"  would  appall  the 
stoutest  heart.  It  was  after  the  death  of  his 
charming  child-wife  that  the  poet's  heart  be 
came  so  desolate  and  suffered  from  what  he 
himself  describes  as  "a  sense  of  insupportable 
loneliness  and  a  dread  of  some  strange  im 
pending  doom."  Like  many  highly  imagina 
tive  men,  Poe  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
awful  mystery  of  death.  In  most  of  his  poetry 
and  in  many  of  his  prose  tales,  he  seeks  to  un- 

129 


Cult 


ravel  the  impenetrable  secrets  of  the  grave, 
finding  a  never-ceasing  fascination  in  its 
gloomy  recesses.  Mrs.  Clemm  told  me  that 
"Eddie"  often  wandered  to  his  wife's  grave 
at  midnight,  in  the  snow  and  rain,  and  threw 
himself  upon  the  mound  of  earth,  calling  upon 
her  in  words  of  most  tender  affection  to  watch 
over  him.  For  weeks  and  months  after  this, 
the  crowning  sorrow  of  his  life  of  sorrow,  the 
poet  was  crushed  with  grief.  His  usual  oc 
cupations  were  neglected,  his  pen  was  thrown 
aside ;  his  books  were  not  opened ;  he  wandered 
about  the  country  by  day,  and  at  night  kept 
long  and  solitary  vigil  at  the  grave  of  his 
"lost  Lenore."  From  that  time,  he  was  a 
changed  man:  he  who  never  laughed  and 
rarely  ever  smiled,  scarcely  ever  smiled  again. 
In  the  autumn  of  1848,  a  gleam  of  sunlight 
illumined  Poe's  dark  and  fateful  life,  for  at 
that  time  he  first  became  personally  acquainted 
with  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman.  Twenty- 
four  years  afterwards,  Mrs.  Whitman  wrote 
a  long  and  interesting  account  of  her  love  af 
fair  with  the  poet.  It  appears  that  he  called 
upon  her  at  her  residence  in  Providence,  R.  I., 
bringing  a  letter  of  introduction  from  a  mutual 
friend,  Miss  Maria  J.  Mclntosh.  Mrs.  Whit 
man's  presence  seemed  to  inspire  him  with  an 
immediate  hope  that  she  could,  if  she  would, 

130 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


raise  him  from  the  misery  and  despair  from 
which  he  had  been  suffering  since  the  death  of 
his  wife,  nearly  two  years  before;  and,  also, 
that  she  could  give  an  inspiration  to  his  genius, 
of  which  he  had,  said  Poe,  as  yet  given  no 
token.  "Notwithstanding  the  eloquence  with 
which  .he  urged  upon  me  his  wishes,"  said  Mrs. 
Whitman,  "I  knew  too  well  that  I  could  not 
exercise  over  him  the  power  that  he  described 
to  me.  In  parting  with  him,  I  promised  that 
I  would  reply  to  him  and  tell  him  what  I  could 
not  then  say  to  him."  Poe  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Whitman  soon  after  leaving  her,  but  she  de 
layed  writing  from  day  to  day,  unwilling  to 
give  him  pain  by  a  refusal,  and  yet  fearing  to 
mislead  him  and  compromise  herself  by  any 
word  of  friendly  sympathy  and  encourage 
ment.  However,  after  a  few  weeks,  an  ardent 
courtship  won  the  lady's  consent  to  a  condi 
tional  engagement,  followed  by  her  consent  to 
an  immediate  marriage.  On  Saturday,  De 
cember  24,  1848,  Poe  wrote  to  a  minister,  ask 
ing  him  to  perform  the  ceremony  on  the  fol 
lowing  Monday  evening ;  he  wrote  at  the  same 
time  to  Mrs.  Clemm  that  he  and  his  bride 
should  arrive  in  New  York  on  Tuesday,  De 
cember  27th.  The  condition  upon  which  Mrs. 
Whitman  consented  to  marry  Poe  was  that 
he  should  not  touch  liquor  of  any  kind.  Mrs. 


CJje  Poe  Cult 


Whitman  says  her  friends  were  anxious  to 
break  the  rash  engagement,  and  were  strongly 
opposed  to  the  hasty  marriage.  On  Saturday 
afternoon,  she  received  a  note  informing  her 
that  Poe  had  that  very  morning  broken  his 
promise  by  drinking  wine  in  the  barroom  of 
the  Earl  House ;  he  took  but  a  single  glass,  and 
showed  no  evidence  of  excitement  in  his  man 
ner  or  appearance;  but  this  proof  of  his  in 
firmity  of  purpose  at  such  a  moment  convinced 
his  fiancee  that  no  influence  of  hers  could  avail 
to  save  him,  and  she  broke  the  engagement. 
He  returned  to  New  York  that  evening,  and 
the  lovers  never  met  again,  but  Poe's  love  for 
her  was  one  of  the  cherished  memories  of  Mrs. 
Whitman's  life,  and  her  deep  interest  in  his 
name  and  fame  ceased  only  with  her  own 
death,  which  took  place  on  the  27th  of  June, 
1876. 

In  the  summer  of  1849,  P°e  visited  Rich 
mond,  and  there  among  the  scenes  of  his  youth 
and  early  manhood,  he  resumed  his  acquaint 
ance  with  the  object  of  his  first  love,  Elmira 
Royster,  who  was  at  that  time  the  widow  Shel- 
ton.  Their  love  was  renewed,  and  an  en 
gagement  quickly  followed,  and  the  marriage 
was  fixed  for  the  ensuing  October.  While  on 
his  way  to  New  York,  to  bring  Mrs.  Clemm 
to  Richmond,  which  was  to  be  their  future 

132 


Cfte  Poe  Cii 


i  i 


home,  Poe  was  overtaken  by  the  calamity  in 
Baltimore,  which  resulted  in  his  death  on  the 
7th  of  October,  1849. 

Besides  these  various  loves  of  Edgar  Poe, 
he  had  several  friendships,  more  or  less  ardent. 
His  friendship  for  Mrs.  Frances  Sargent  Os- 
good  was  cemented  by  a  congeniality  of  taste 
and  a  poetical  sympathy.  Each  celebrated  the 
other  in  verse,  and  Mrs.  Osgood,  a  few  months 
before  her  own  early  death — she  survived  Poe 
only  seven  months — wrote  a  most  interesting 
personal  sketch  of  the  poet,  giving  a  detailed 
account  of  his  home  life  in  New  York,  after 
the  publication  of  The  Raven  had  placed  him 
among  the  first  of  living  poets.  In  a  well- 
known  drawing  room  in  New  York,  once  the 
favorite  resort  of  the  literati,  there  hung  a 
portrait  of  Poe,  which  was  described  as  hav 
ing  the  aspect  of  a  beautiful  and  desolate 
shrine  from  which  the  Genius  had  departed, 
recalling  certain  lines  in  one  of  the  antique 
marbles : 

"Oh  melancholy  eyes! 

Oh  empty  eyes,  from  which  the  soul  has  gone 

To  see  the  far-off  countries." 

Near  this  luminous  but  impassive  face,  with 
its  sad  and  soulless  eyes,  says  Mrs.  Whitman, 
was  a  portrait  of  Poe's  unrelenting  biographer, 
Griswold.  In  a  recess  opposite  hung  a  por- 

133 


oe  Cult 


trait  of  the  fascinating  Mrs.  Osgood,  whose 
genius  both  had  so  fervently  admired,  and  for 
whose  coveted  praise  and  friendship  both  had 
been  competitors.  Looking  at  the  beautiful 
face  of  this  lady,  so  full  of  enthusiasm,  and 
dreamy,  tropical  sunshine — remembering  the 
eloquent  words  of  her  praise,  as  expressed  in 
the  prodigal  and  passionate  exaggerations  of 
her  verse,  one  ceases  to  wonder  at  the  rivalries 
and  enmities  enkindled  within  the  hearts  of 
those  who  admired  her  genius  and  grace — 
rivalries  and  enmities  which  the  grave  itself 
could  not  cancel  or  appease. 

The  lover  and  his  loves  are  long  since  dead, 
but,  so  immortal  is  the  touch  of  genius,  the 
memory  of  those  ladies  is  embalmed  in  their 
country's  literary  history.  This  sketch  of  the 
loves  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  cannot  be  more  ap 
propriately  concluded  than  by  quoting  two 
verses  from  an  exquisite  poem  of  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman,  entitled,  "The  Portrait  of  Poe." 

Sweet,  mournful  eyes,  long  closed  upon  earth's  sorrow, 
Sleep  restfully,  after  life's  fevered  dream! 

Sleep,  wayward  heart!  till  some  cool  bright  morrow, 
Thy  soul,  refreshed,  shall  bathe  in  morning's  beam. 

Though  cloud  and  shadow  rest  upon  your  story, 
And  rude  hands  lift  the  drapery  of  thy  pall, 

Time,  as  a  birthright,  shall  restore  thy  glory, 
And  Heaven  rekindle  all  the  stars  that  fall." 

134 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


POE  AND  STODDARD. 

The  death  of  Richard  Henry  Stoddard,  on 
the  1 2th  of  May,  1903,  removed  from  the 
world  the  last  of  the  literary  contemporaries 
of  Edgar  A.  Poe.  Their  acquaintance  began 
in  the  Summer  of  1845,  when  Poe  was  the  edi 
tor,  owner,  and  principal  contributor  to  the 
Broadway  Journal.  Mr.  Stoddard  has  told 
the  story  of  his  acquaintance  with  Poe — told  it 
often  and  well — told  it  with  interesting  em 
bellishment,  blending  fact  and  fiction  in  equal 
portions.  The  courtesies  of  journalism  are 
more  regarded  now  than  they  were  twenty- 
four  years  ago.  I  have  before  me  an  article 
from  a  leading  New  York  newspaper,  of  May 
3,  1885,  headed,  "Reminiscences  of  Poe,  Poet, 
Lover,  Liar."  By  Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 
He  says :  "When  I  was  in  the  twentieth  year 
of  my  age,  I  was  under  the  delusion  that  I 
could  write  poetry.  I  belonged  to  the  school 
of  Keats,  though  I  was  only  in  the  infant 
class.  Something  that  I  had  read  suggested 
an  Ode  to  a  Grecian  Flute,  and  I  wrote  one, 

135 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

or  tried  to,  which  is  not  precisely  the  same 
thing.  I  made  a  fair  copy  of  the  effusion,  and 
sent  it  to  the  great  Mr.  Poe,  wrho  was  then 
editing  the  Broadway  Journal.  It  was  pub 
lished  in  Clinton  Hall,  not  far  from  where 
Temple  Court  is.  I  waited  patiently  two  or 
three  weeks,  at  the  end  of  which  time,  the  im 
mortality  of  print  being  denied  me,  I  took  a 
day  and  went  down  to  the  office  of  the  Broad 
way  Journal.  Mr.  Poe  was  not  there,  but  I 
obtained  his  address,  and  retraced  my  steps. 
I  found  the  house  in  which  he  lodged.  It  was 
on  the  southerly  side  of  East  Broadway,  prob 
ably  in  the  neighborhood  of  Clinton  Street.  I 
was  directed  to  his  rooms,  which  were  on  the 
second  floor.  He  was  dressed  in  black,  I  re 
member,  and  was  very  courteous  to  me.  The 
Ode  should  appear  next  week.  I  thanked  him, 
and  rising  to  leave,  saw  that  his  wife,  who 
was,  also,  in  black,  was  lying  asleep  on  a  bed — 
a  fragile  gentlewoman,  whom  I  pitied,  for  I 
felt  she  had  not  long  to  live.  I  saw  her 
mother  at  that  same  time,  who  was  also  in 
black.  I  bowed  to  her,  and  departed.  The 
Ode  did  not  appear  next  week,  but  there  was 
a  reference  to  it  in  the  earner  devoted  to  Cor 
respondents.  The  editor  doubted  the  original 
ity  of  my  verse,  and  declined  to  publish  it  un 
less  he  could  be  assured  of  its  authenticity.  I 

136 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

was  startled,  but  complimented,  for  had  I  not 
written  so  well  that  Poe  suspected  that  I  was 
a  literary  thief.  I  was  hurt,  but  I  was  flat 
tered  and  bettered,  for  I  was  no  longer  afraid 
of  the  poet's  criticism.  I  took  another  fore 
noon,  a  week  later,  and  went  again  to  the  of 
fice  of  the  Broadway  Journal.  It  was  a  boil 
ing  day  in  June.  The  editor  was  not  in  his 
chair,  but  was  expected  to  return  soon.  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  hot  street,  and  at 
the  end  of  an  hour,  returned,  and  was  in 
formed  that  Mr.  Poe  was  in,  and  was  shown 
to  his  room.  He  was  in  black,  as  before,  asleep 
in  his  chair.  The  publisher  wakened  him. 
'What  do  you  want?'  he  snapped  out.  'I  have 
come,  Mr.  Poe,  to  assure  you  of  the  authen 
ticity  of  the  "Ode  on  a  Grecian  Flute."  He 
glared  at  me,  and  without  waiting  to  hear 
what  I  had  to  say,  declared  that  I  was  a  liar, 
and  consigned  me  to  instant  perdition.  Then 
he  rose  surlily,  and  threatened  to  kick  me  out 
of  the  office  if  I  did  not  get  out  at  once;  which 
I  did." 

Mr.  Stoddard  said,  several  years  ago,  that 
he  had  made  over  $700  by  writing  this  anec 
dote  in  various  shapes,  style,  length  and 
breadth.  The  whirligig  of  time  has  brought 
about  many  changes,  and  none  equal  to  the 
change  that  has  taken  place  in  the  estimation 

137 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


of  Poe.  For  twenty-five  years  after  his  death, 
the  dead  lion  was  kicked  by  living  asses — the 
dead  raven  was  plucked  by  living  buzzards, 
and  other  foul  birds.  Richard  Henry  Stod- 
dard  was  neither  an  ass  nor  a  buzzard,  but  he 
did  much  to  keep  Poe  from  coming  to  his 
kingdom.  He  defended  Griswold,  while  con 
demning  Poe.  He  declared  that  "Griswold 
was  not  more  the  enemy  of  Poe  than  I  was,  or 
am."  That's  true.  They  were  both  enemies, 
one  as  much  as  the  other.  Stoddard's  dislike 
of  the  poet  was  caused  by  that  threat  to  kick 
him  out  of  his  office.  On  that  he  claims  to 
have  made  $700,  and  has  associated  his  name 
with  that  of  the  author  of  The  Raven ;  had  the 
threat  been  actually  carried  out,  Stoddard 
might  have  made  twice  as  much  money,  and 
gained  an  immortal  fame.  See  what  he  missed 
by  his  precipitous  retreat  from  the  sanctum 
of  the  irate  poet?  To  be  kicked  into  fame  sel 
dom  happens  to  a  man.  By  acting  the  better 
part  of  valor,  and  running  away,  Stoddard 
lost  the  opportunity  of  his  life. 

Walt  Whitman  told  of  a  very  different  ex 
perience  which  he  had  with  Poe.  He  saw 
him  once,  when  he  called  at  the  office  of  the 
Broadway  Journal,  as  Stoddard  did,  to  inquire 
about  a  piece.  He  says  that  Poe  was  very 
cordial:  "I  have  a  distinct  and  pleasant  re- 

138 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

membrance  of  his  looks,  voice,  manner  and 
matter;  he  was  very  kindly  and  human,  but 
subdued,  and  perhaps  a  little  agitated/' 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  in  his  admirable 
essay  entitled,  "Edgar  Allan  Poe,"  was  the 
first  to  draw  public  attention  to  the  fact  that 
the  poet  never  made  a  dollar  except  by  his  pen, 
and  he  says,  moreover,  the  duty  of  self-support 
was  not  one  to  which  he  had  been  trained,  and 
he  adds,  "Imagine  Shelley,  who  made  his  paper 
boats  of  bank  notes,  Byron  and  Landor,  who 
had  their  old  estates,  forced  to  write  by  the 
column  for  their  weekly  board."  Then,  re 
member  that  Poe  was  brought  up  in  luxury, 
and  taught  to  expect  a  handsome  fortune — 
that  when  he  reached  manhood,  he  was  turned 
adrift  without  a  dollar.  Gifted  as  few  are 
gifted,  he  made  a  splendid  fight  against  fate. 


139 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 


INGRAM'S  LIFE  OF  POE. 

Ten  years  after  Edgar  A.  Poe's  death,  a 
reaction  in  his  favor  set  in,  beginning  with 
Mrs.  Whitman's  graceful  little  book,  Edgar 
Poe  and  his  Critics.  This  reaction  has  cul 
minated  in  the  biography  now  under  consid 
eration.  Like  Mr.  William  F.  Gill,  and  others 
we  could  name,  Mr.  Ingrain  became  fascinated 
by  the  strange  and  romantic  career  of  the  au 
thor  of  "The  Raven."  Fascination  soon  be 
came  infatuation;  and  for  nearly  ten  years  he 
devoted  money,  time,  and  labor  to  collecting 
material  for  a  biography,  which  should  have 
the  same  effect  upon  the  other  biographies  of 
Poe  as  Aaron's  rod  had  upon  the  rods  of  the 
Egyptians. 

In  his  preface,  Mr.  Ingram  makes  the 
sweeping  charge  that  all  the  biographies  of 
Poe  that  have  appeared  since  his  vindicatory 
memoir  in  1874 — except  one  "based  upon  Gris- 
wold's  sketch" — have  "reproduced  the  whole 
of  his  (Ingram's)  material,  and  with  scarcely 
an  additional  item  of  interest  or  value."  Yet, 

140 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

notwithstanding  this,  he  quotes  many  interest 
ing  passages  from  biographies  of  Poe  which 
have  appeared  since  1874;  in  some  instances 
giving  credit,  in  others  not.  In  common  jus 
tice  he  should  have  given  credit  to  the  biog 
rapher  who  discovered  and  rescued  Poe's  re 
markable  letter  about  the  "tame  propriety"  of 
Washington  Irving's  style,  which  Mr.  Ingram 
copies  in  full  on  p.  154,  Vol.  I,  of  his  work. 

Poe  required  no  ancestors.  His  genius  has 
thrown  distinction  upon  a  name  which,  other 
wise,  would  long  ere  this  have  passed  into 
oblivion.  It  was  not  necessary,  therefore,  for 
Mr.  Ingram  to  claim  that  the  grandfather  of 
the  poet  "greatly  distinguished  himself  during 
the  War  of  Independence."  Even  were  such 
the  fact,  it  would  add  nothing  to  Edgar  Poe's 
reputation.  But  such  was  not  the  fact.  The 
grandfather  of  Edgar  Poe,  called  by  courtesy 
Gen.  Poe,  was  simply  deputy  quartermaster  of 
the  Maryland  Line  during  the  American  Revo 
lution.  He  performed  his  duty  well  and  faith 
fully,  but  it  was  not  a  position  which  gave  him 
an  opportunity  to  "distinguish"  himself. 

The  admirers  of  Poe  will  read  \vith  interest 
and  pleasure  Mr.  Ingram's  story  of  the  ro 
mantic  love  affair  between  Mrs.  Whitman  and 
the  poet.  It  is  the  fullest  and  most  satisfac 
tory  account  of  what  has  hitherto  been  a  mys- 

141 


Cfce  poe  Cult 

terious  episode  in  Poe's  career.  His  letters  to 
his  "promised  bride"  during  the  period  of  their 
brief  engagement  are  replete  with  expressions 
of  the  most  exalted  passion  and  the  most  en 
thusiastic  devotion.  The  breaking  off  of  the 
engagement  is  thus  told  by  Mr.  Ingram : 

"He  arrived  in  Providence  full  of  the  most 
sanguine  hopes;  he  had  proposed  to  himself  a 
career  of  literary  success,  dwelling  with  en 
kindling  enthusiasm  upon  his  long-cherished 
scheme  of  establishing  a  magazine  that  should 
give  him  supreme  control  of  intellectual  so 
ciety  in  America.  His  dreams  of  love  and 
triumph  were  rapidly  destroyed.  In  a  few 
days  he  was  to  be  married;  he  had  advised  his 
aunt,  Mrs.  Clemm,  to  expect  his  and  his  bride's 
arrival  in  New  York  early  the  following  week, 
when  information  was  given  to  Mrs.  Whitman 
and  to  her  relatives  that  he  had  violated  the 
solemn  pledge  of  abstinence  so  recently  given. 
Whether  this  information  was  true,  no  one 
living,  perchance,  can  say.  When  he  arrived 
at  the  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Whitman,  "no  token 
of  the  infringement  of  his  promise  was  visible 
in  his  appearance  or  manner,"  said  that  lady, 
"but  I  was  at  last  convinced  that  it  would  be 
in  vain  longer  to  hope  against  hope.  I  knew 
that  he  had  irrevocably  lost  the  power  of  self- 
recovery.  .  .  ." 

142 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

This  scene  is  certainly  highly  dramatic,  and 
is  a  fit  termination  of  so  wild  and  romantic  a 
love  affair.  Poe  never  knew  the  real  cause  of 
the  rupture  of  the  engagement,  and,  "up  to  the 
time  of  his  death  does  not  appear  to  have  al 
luded  to  Mrs.  Whitman  again  save  in  the  most 
conventional  manner,  but  the  lady  always 
cherished,  with  unfaded  affection,  the  memory 
of  her  connection  with  the  poet;  and  in 
variably  contrived  to  bring  more  prominently 
forward  the  brighter  traits  of  her  hero's  char 
acter  than  has  been  accomplished  by  any  other 
person." 

We  admire  Mr.  Ingram's  industry  in  getting 
the  hitherto  unpublished  letters  of  Poe;  some 
of  them  throw  light  on  the  complex  character 
of  this  strange  being,  who,  as  was  said  of  John 
Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  "lived  and  died  a  mys 
tery  to  those  who  knew  him  best."  We  must, 
however,  question  the  taste  and  propriety  of 
resurrecting  the  unsavory  controversy  be 
tween  Poe  and  English.  The  whole  affair  wras 
disgraceful,  and  reflected  credit  on  neither.  A 
biographer  should  know  what  to  blot.  The 
work  of  even  the  greatest  writer  is  not  all 
interesting.  We  have  no  doubt  that  Shake 
speare's  writing  desk,  if  he  had  one,  con 
tained  much  that  was  consigned  to  well- 
merited  oblivion.  When  we  read  of  Poe  taking 

H3 


Cbe  poe  Cult 


credit  to  himself  for  "running  his  pen 
through  certain  sentences  referring  to  the 
brandy  nose  of  Mr.  Briggs  (since  Mr.  Briggs 
is  only  one-third  described  when  this  nose  is 
omitted),  and  to  the  family  resemblance  be 
tween  the  noble  visage  of  Mr.  English  and 
that  of  the  best  looking  but  most  unprincipled 
of  Mr.  Barnum's  baboons,"  we  feel  that  Poe 
has  done  himself  infinitely  more  harm  than 
he  has  done  either  Mr.  Briggs  or  Mr.  Eng 
lish  by  indulging  in  language  that  should  be 
confined  to  Billingsgate,  where  they  "sell  the 
best  fish  and  speak  the  worst  English." 

We  will  not  stop  to  point  out  several  unim 
portant  errors  made  by  Mr.  Ingram,  but  we 
have  to  condemn  the  ungenerous  spirit  that 
prompted  him  to  omit  all  mention  of  Mr.  Gill 
from  the  work.  The  latter  has  done  very 
worthy,  if  Quixotic,  service  in  the  Poe  cause. 
We  are  afraid  that  Mr.  Ingram  is  a  little  bit 
jealous  of  what  others  have  done  in  this  mat 
ter;  that,  like  the  Turk,  he  wishes  to  reign 
alone,  and  will  not  permit  anyone  else  to  share 
his  self-assumed  throne. 


144 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


WOODBERRY'S  LIFE  OF  POE. 

The  interest  in  the  strange  and  romantic 
story  of  Poe's  life  seems  to  increase  rather 
than  diminish.  Already  nine  lives  have  been 
given  to  the  world — some  written  by  bitter 
enemies,  others  by  injudicious  friends,  all 
wanting,  more  or  less,  in  that  calm,  dispas 
sionate  tone  which  should  characterize  works 
of  literary  and  historical  interest.  A  tenth 
life  of  Poe  has  been  written  by  Mr.  George 
E.  Woodberry,  for  the  American  Men  of  Let 
ters  series.  In  a  compact  volume  of  three 
hundred  and  fifty  pages,  we  have  a  complete, 
reliable  and  interesting  life  of  the  author  of 
The  Raven,  written  with  absolute  literary 
candor  and  entirely  free  from  prejudice,  one 
way  or  the  other.  In  fact,  he  has  produced 
a  work  which  should  satisfy  all  readers  for  a 
long  time  to  come. 

Mr.  Woodberry  has  anticipated  the  possible 
cavils  of  the  critics  by  carefully  substantiating, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  fresh  and  interesting  in 
formation  which  he  has  added  to  what  was 
already  known  of  Poe's  romantic  and  erratic 

145 


Cult 


career.  The  fact  of  his  enlisting  in  the  United 
States  Army  has  been  hinted  at  before,  but 
Mr.  Woodberry  proves  by  the  records  of  the 
war  department  that  Poe  enlisted  on  the 
26th  of  May,  1828,  and  served  for  nearly 
twelve  months,  being  discharged  on  the  I5th 
of  April,  1829,  his  friends  having  put  a  sub 
stitute  in  his  place  with  a  view  of  getting  him 
appointed  a  cadet  to  West  Point.  Mr.  Wood- 
berry  has  thus  filled  up  a  gap  in  Poe's  life 
which  had  baffled  all  other  biographers  of  the 
poet. 

One  of  the  most  disagreeable  accusations 
brought  against  the  dead  Poe  by  Griswold 
was,  that  while  Poe  was  the  editor  of  the  Gen 
tleman's  Magazine,  of  which  William  E.  Bur 
ton,  the  comedian,  was  the  owner,  he  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  latter's  temporary  absence 
to  supplant  him  by  starting  a  new  magazine, 
and  had  obtained  transcripts  of  the  subscrip 
tion  and  account  books  for  that  purpose. 
When  Burton  returned  home,  at  the  end  of  a 
fortnight,  he  was  told  that  not  a  line  of  copy 
for  the  next  number  of  the  magazine  had  been 
given  to  the  printers,  and  after  some  time 
Poe  was  found  late  in  the  evening  at  one  of 
his  accustomed  haunts  and  was  thus  ad 
dressed:  "Mr.  Poe,  I  am  astonished.  Give 
me  my  manuscript,  so  that  I  can  attend  to  the 

146 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


duties  which  you  have  so  shamefully  neglected, 
and  when  you  are  sober  we  will  settle."  To 
which  Poe  is  reported  to  have  replied :  "Who 
are  you  that  presumes  to  address  me  in  this 
manner  ?  Burton,  I  am  the  editor  of  the  Penn 
Magazine,  and  you  are  (hiccup)  a  fool."  Of 
course,  this  ended  his  relations  with  the  Gen 
tleman's. 

Such  is  Griswold's  story,  which  is  now 
known  to  be  false  in  every  particular.  Poe 
himself  in  a  letter  written  to  Dr.  Joseph  E. 
Snodgrass,  editor  of  the  Baltimore  Saturday 
Visitor,  says  that  he  left  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  because  he  disapproved  of  Burton's 
conduct  in  the  matter  of  certain  prizes  of 
fered  for  manuscripts.  They  quarreled  and 
separated.  Poe  in  his  letter  to  Dr.  Snodgrass, 
dated  Philadelphia,  April  i,  1841,  explaining 
the  cause  of  his  leaving  Burton,  says:  "I 
pledge  you  before  God  the  solemn  word  of  a 
gentleman,  that  I  am  temperate  even  to  rigor. 
From  the  hour  in  which  I  first  saw  this  beast 
of  calumniators  to  the  hour  in  which  I  retired 
from  his  office  in  uncontrollable  disgust  at  his 
chicanery,  arrogance,  ignorance,  and  brutality, 
nothing  stronger  than  water  ever  passed  my 
lips.  You  will  never  be  brought  to  believe 
that  I  could  write  what  I  daily  write,  as  I 
write  it,  were  I  as  this  man  would  induce  those 

147 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


who  know  me  not  to  believe.  At  no  period  of 
my  life  was  I  ever  what  men  call  intemperate. 
I  was  never  in  the  habit  of  intoxication.  I 
never  drunk  drams,  etc.,  but  for  a  brief  period, 
while  I  resided  in  Richmond  and  edited  the 
Messenger,  I  certainly  did  give  way,  at  long 
intervals,  to  the  temptation  held  out  on  all  sides 
by  the  spirit  of  vSouthern  conviviality.  My 
sensitive  temperament  could  not  stand  an  ex 
citement  which  was  an  every-day  matter  to 
my  companions.  In  short,  it  sometimes  hap 
pened  that  I  was  completely  intoxicated.  For 
some  days  after  each  excess  I  was  invariably 
confined  to  bed.  But  it  is  now  quite  four  years 
since  I  have  abandoned  every  kind  of  alcho- 
holic  drink — four  years  with  the  exception  of 
a  single  deviation,  which  occurred  shortly  after 
my  leaving  Burton,  and  when  I  was  induced 
to  resort  to  the  occasional  use  of  cider,  with 
the  hope  of  relieving  a  nervous  attack.  You 
will  thus  see,  frankly  stated,  the  whole  amount 
of  my  sin." 

Mr.  Woodberry  has  done  a  good  work  by 
rescuing  this  important  correspondence  from 
the  columns  of  a  daily  newspaper  and  giving 
it  a  permanent  place  in  American  literary 
biography. 

For  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  Poe's 
untimely  death,  Griswold's  infamous  memoir 

148 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

was  accepted  by  the  world  as  correct,  and 
followed  by  other  biographers  until  1875,  when 
the  erection  of  the  monument  over  the  poet's 
long-neglected  grave  in  Baltimore  led  to  a 
new  investigation  of  his  life.  This,  continued 
to  the  present  time,  has  resulted  in  the  com 
plete  refutation  of  all  of  Griswold's  slanders 
and  the  bringing  to  light,  from  time  to  time,  of 
important  facts,  affecting  Poe  as  a  man  and 
a  poet,  until,  as  we  have  before  remarked,  the 
whole  story  of  his  life  has  been  related  in  Mr. 
Woodberry's  work. 

Poe  has  had  a  singular  literary  fate;  long 
neglected  by  his  own  countrymen,  the  Eng 
lish,  French  and  German  critics  recognized 
him  as  the  most  original  of  all  the  American 
poets. 


149 


Cbe  |9oe  Cult 


RECENT  BIOGRAPHIES  OF  EDGAR  A. 
POE.* 

When  Dr.  Johnson  heard  that  Boswell  in 
tended  to  write  his  life,  he  is  reported  to  have 
said  that  he  would  prevent  so  great  a  calamity 
by  taking  the  life  of  his  presumptive  biog 
rapher.  In  this  matter,  as,  indeed,  in  many 
others,  Johnson  was  wrong.  Those  profound 
philosophical  works,  by  which  he  hoped  to  be 
long  remembered,  are  not  now  read  by  one  in 
ten  thousand,  but  Boswell's  biography  will 
keep  alive  an  interest  in  Johnson  to  the  most 
distant  posterity.  Had  Edgar  A.  Poe  known 
how  Griswold  would  write  his  life,  he  might 
more  justly  have  entertained  the  murderous 
feeling  attributed  to  Dr.  Johnson.  Yet  Gris- 
wokTs  memoir  of  Poe  has  been  an  advantage 
to  the  poet.  Had  he  written  a  truthful  and 
satisfactory  biography,  it  would  have  been 
accepted  as  such  by  the  world,  and  perhaps 
long  since  have  been  consigned  to  the 
neglected  shelves  of  public  and  private  li- 

*International  Review,  January,  1861. 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


braries;  but  the  manifest  injustice  of  Gris- 
wold's  sketch  induced  the  friends  and  ad 
mirers  of  Poe  to  examine  his  biographer's 
damaging  statements,  to  sweep  away  the 
falsehood  from  his  disgraceful  stories,  and 
to  give  to  the  world  all  the  strange  and  re 
markable  incidents  which  made  the  life  of  the 
author  of  "The  Raven"  more  romantic  than 
fiction. 

Carlyle  says  that  "a  well-written  life  is 
almost  as  rare  as  a  well-spent  one."  Eight 
lives  of  Poe  have  been  published.  That  so 
many  biographies  should  be  written  of  one 
author  is  a  very  noticeable  circumstance. 
Byron,  who  occupied  the  attention  of  the  world 
more  than  any  other  modern  writer,  had  only 
three  or  four  biographies  written  of  him; 
Dickens,  the  most  popular  author  of  the  last 
century,  has  had  only  two  or  three;  Bulwer 
has  had  none;  Bryant,  one;  Irving,  two;  Hal- 
leek,  one;  Moore,  one,  and  Thackeray,  if  we 
except  one  or  two  imperfect  sketches  and  the 
execrable  stuff  published  by  Anthony  Trollope, 
has  had  none. 

We  propose  in  this  article  to  examine  two 
recent  lives  of  Poe.  Mr.  Gill's  book  was  writ 
ten  with  a  twofold  object — the  deification  of 
Poe  and  the  damnation  of  Griswold.  It  is 
hard  to  say  which  feeling  predominates.  For 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

our  own  part,  we  do  not  believe  that  Poe  was 
so  good  as  Gill  represents  him  or  that  Gris- 
wold  was  so  bad.  Mr.  Gill  claims  that  his  is 
the  most  complete  life  of  Poe  that  has  been 
published.  He  begins  his  life  by  a  sketch  of 
Poe's  imaginary  Italian  ancestry,  which  the 
late  Sarah  Helen  Whitman  invented,  and  first 
published  in  her  "Poe  and  his  Critics."  In  a 
letter  written  to  me  by  Mrs.  Whitman  the  year 
before  her  death,  she  says:  "For  all  I  said  on 
the  subject  I  alone  am  responsible.  A  distant 
relative  of  mine,  a  descendant,  like  myself,  of 
Nicholas  Le  Poer,  had  long  ministered  to  my 
genealogical  proclivities  by  stories  which,  from 
my  childhood,  had  vaguely  haunted  and 
charmed  my  imagination.  When  I  discovered 
certain  facts  in  Poe's  history,  of  which  he  had 
previously  made  little  account,  he  seemed 
greatly  impressed  by  my  theory  of  our  rela 
tionship.  Of  course,  I  endowed  him  with  my 
traditionary  heirlooms.  An  aptitude  for  gene 
alogical  researches  is  my  specialty,  and  it 
would  require  but  a  few  slender  links  to  con 
nect  your  Franco-Italian  name  with  that 
Didier  King  of  Lombardy,  who  surrendered 
his  Iron  crown  to  Charlemagne  and  gave  him 
his  daughter  in  marriage." 

So  much  for  Poe's  "long  descent."    But  he 
could  well  afford  to  be  the  first  of  his  name;  he 

152 


Ci>e  Poe  Cult 

did  not  require  ancestors,  coats  of  arms,  or 
coronets.  We  seek  not  for  ancestors,  im 
mediate  or  remote,  of  Shakespeare,  Dante,  or 
Virgil ;  they  have  crowned  their  names  with  a 
lustre  which  kings  cannot  bestow. 

Mr.  Gill  is  guilty  of  some  mistakes  which 
should  be  corrected.  Edgar  Poe's  father  was 
not  the  fourth,  but  the  eldest  son  of  his 
parents.  It  was  not  after  the  breach  between 
Poe  and  Mr.  Allan  that  the  latter  married  his 
second  wife :  it  was  before ;  the  marriage  was 
the  cause  of  the  quarrel.  Poe  did  not  utter  on 
his  deathbed  the  nonsense  about  "the  Elysian 
bowers  of  the  undiscovered  spirit  world"- 
Judge  Neilson  Poe,  his  nearest  living  relative, 
who  was  present  at  the  death  of  his  cousin, 
says :  "He  was  taken  in  a  dying  condition  to 
the  University  Hospital,  where  he  remained 
insensible  to  the  last." 

We  regret  that  we  cannot  truthfully  praise 
Mr.  Gill's  literary  style.  In  mentioning  the  sim 
ple  fact  that  Poe  printed  "The  Raven"  anony 
mously,  he  thus  expresses  himself:  "When  in 
his  silent  vigils,  enthralled  by  the  imaginative 
ecstasy  which  often  possessed  and  over 
powered  him,  he  conceived  and  wrought  out 
this  marvelous  inspiration,  what  wonder  is  it 
that  his  delicate  sensibility  should  prompt  him 
to  conceal  from  the  rude  gaze  of  his  material 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


audience  the  secret  springs  of  his  inner  con 
sciousness,  by  printing  his  chef-d'oeuvre  over 
an  assumed  name,  and  hedging  its  origin  about 
with  the  impenetrable  veil  of  fiction?"  In  an 
elaborate  analysis  of  the  same  poem,  Mr.  Gill 
indulges  in  the  following  language:  "Postu 
lating  the  opinion  which  we  venture  to  ad 
vance  here  upon  the  result  of  a  process  of 
psychological  introversion,  which  conclusion  is 
confirmed  by  several  of  Poe's  most  intimate 
acquaintances  now  living,  strengthened  by  a 
chain  of  conclusive  circumstantial  evidence,  we 
have  arrived  at  a  theory  of  the  origin  of  the 
poem  that  has  received  the  approval  of,  etc/' 
Here  is  a  still  higher  flight:  "That  some  of 
the  most  exquisite  imaginative  fabrics  ever 
constructed  have  been  wrought  from  the  sug 
gestions  afforded  by  some  especial  experience, 
or  by  a  chance  incident  of  circumstance,  there 
are  many  familiar  examples  to  demonstrate." 
When  stripped  of  its  covering  of  verbiage,  this 
means  simply  that  authors  frequently  write 
from  their  own  experience — a  truism  which 
will  scarcely  be  denied. 

Mr.  Gill's  grammar  is  not  always  as  Caesar's 
wife  was  required  to  be,  above  suspicion.  In 
fact,  he  sometimes  lapses  into  such  mistakes 
as  these:  "Some  of  his  best  prose  tales  were 
done  at  this  time,  when  the  yoke  of  privation 

154 


Poe  Cult 


sat  but  lightly  upon  his  shoulders."  In  speak 
ing  of  Poe's  reading  of  "The  Raven,"  he  says, 
"He  was  too  good  an  elocutionist  to  fail  to 
adequately  voice  his  conceptions."  Again :  "By 
matter-of-fact  minds,  incapable  of  sensing  deli 
cate  distinctions,  poets,  from  Shakespeare 
down,  have  been,  and  will  continue  to  be,  ad 
judged  guilty  of  arrant  plagiarism."  It  is  a 
pity  that  Mr.  Gill  does  not  know  the  "delicate 
distinction"  between  a  verb  and  a  noun. 

We  mark  these  errors  in  no  unkind  spirit, 
but  we  think  it  is  the  critic's  duty  to  discover 
and  expose  faults  more  than  to  praise  beauties. 
We  thank  Mr.  Gill  for  giving  us  the  severe 
criticism  which  Poe  wrote  upon  Griswold's 
"Poets  and  Poetry  of  America."  This  was  the 
secret  cause  of  Griswold's  enmity.  He  nursed 
his  anger  for  ten  years,  and,  when  Poe  was 
helpless  in  his  grave,  vilified  the  character  of 
the  deceased  under  the  guise  of  friendship 
Poe  certainly  handled  Griswold's  book  with 
out  gloves.  He  called  it  "miserable"  and  its 
authory  "a  toady;"  he  declared  that  "reason 
ing  and  thinking  were  entirely  out  of  Gris 
wold's  sphere,"  etc.  With  prophetic  ken,  Poe 
declared  at  the  close  of  the  article  that  Gris- 
wold  would  be  "forgotten,  save  only  by  those 
whom  he  had  injured  and  insulted;  he  will 
sink  into  oblivion,  without  leaving  a  landmark 

155 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


to  tell  that  he  once  existed;  or,  if  he  is  spoken 
of  hereafter,  he  will  be  quoted  as  the  unfaith 
ful  servant  who  abused  his  trust" 

Entertaining  as  Poe's  criticisms  always  are, 
still  we  think  that  an  original  genius,  capable 
of  producing  so  remarkable  a  poem  as  "The 
Raven,"  is  better  employed  in  affording  sub 
jects  for  criticism  than  in  acting  as  a  critic 
himself.  Dunces  have  to  be  scourged,  the 
literary  temple  has  to  be  swept  clean ;  but  such 
work  belongs  not  to  a  poet  of  exquisite  genius. 
We  do  not  cut  blocks  with  a  razor ;  we  should 
not  put  Pegasus  under  the  saddle.  Goldsmith 
was  a  fine  critic,  yet  who  reads  his  criticisms 
now?  But  his  "Traveller/'  his  "Deserted  Vil 
lage,"  his  "Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  are  immortal. 
Tennyson  might  have  written  admirable 
criticism  of  poetry,  but  the  world  would  not 
have  taken  it  in  fair  exchange  for  "In 
Memoriam,"  "The  Princess,"  and  "The  Idyls 
of  the  King."  Wordsworth  calls  criticism  an 
"inglorious  employment,"  and  adds:  "If  the 
time  consumed  in  writing  critiques  on  the 
works  of  others  were  given  to  original  com 
position,  it  would  be  much  better  employed." 
We  take  the  liberty  of  differing  from  this 
opinion,  thinking  on  the  contrary,  that  criticism 
is  a  most  important  department  of  letters,  and 
of  infinite  value  to  literature.  Goethe  was  a 

156 


Cfje  Poe  Cult 

critic,  Sainte-Beuve  was  a  critic,  Macaulay 
was  a  critic,  Matthew  Arnold  is  a  critic. 
Surely  their  "employment"  was  not  "in 
glorious."  But  we  do  think  that  a  writer  of 
Poe's  peculiar  gifts  should  have  been  much 
better  employed  in  original  composition  than 
in  writing  criticisms,  however  brilliant.  The 
following  passage  will  show  how  Poe's  ability 
in  this  department  was  appreciated  in  his  life 
time  by  one  of  the  most  fastidious  of  American 
scholars — Horace  Binney  Wallace: 

"As  an  analytical  critic,  Poe  possessed  abil 
ities  quite  unrivalled  in  this  country,  and  per 
haps  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  We  have 
scarcely  ever  taken  up  one  of  his  more  critical 
papers  on  some  author  or  work  worthy  of  his 
strength,  without  a  sense  of  surprise  at  the 
novel  and  profound  views  from  which  his  in 
quiries  began,  nor  followed  their  development 
without  the  closest  interest,  nor  laid  the  essay 
down  without  admiration  and  respect  for  the 
masculine  and  acute  understanding  with  which 
we  had  coped  during  the  perusal." 

While  according  such  high  praise  to  Poe's 
critical  abilities,  Mr.  Wallace  adds  that,  "in  the 
case  of  inventive  genius  so  brilliant  and  vigor 
ous  as  shown  in  his  poems,  we  feel  that  criti 
cism,  even  of  the  highest  kind,  is  an  employ 
ment  below  the  true  measure  of  its  dignity, 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

and,  we  may  say,  its  duty;  for  to  be  a  tender  of 
a  light  in  another  man's  tomb  is  not  fit  occupa 
tion  for  one  whose  ray  may  abide  against  all 
the  fears  of  night  and  storm  and  time.  Poe 
possessed  unusual  powers  of  close  logical  rea 
soning;  he  was  gifted  with  a  miraculous  power 
of  sarcasm,  and  to  him  the  torva  voluptas  of 
literary  controversy  possessed  a  fatal  fascina 
tion." 

While  lamenting  that  Poe  did  not  develop 
more  fully  his  unrivalled  gifts  in  original  com 
position,  we  must  remember  that  during  all  his 
later  life  he  was  a  sufferer  from  res  an  crust  a 
domi,  and  whatever  found  the  readiest  market 
was  what  he  was  compelled  to  produce.  He 
could  not  enjoy  the  luxury  of  devoting  his 
genius  to  the  composition  of  such  poems  as 
"The  Raven,"  which  paid  him  ten  dollars,  when 
a  criticism  like  that  on  "Flaccus,"  which  he 
could  dash  off  currente  calanio,  paid  him  fif 
teen  dollars. 

Poetry  occupied  very  little  of  Poe's  intel 
lectual  life :  it  was  for  him  but  a  "divine  play 
thing,"  as  Heine  said  of  himself.  Poe's  poems 
were  attempts  to  represent  in  verse  the  beauti 
ful  and  unearthly  beings  whom  his  soul  wor- 
•shipped.  In  speaking  of  Maurice  de  Guerin, 
Matthew  Arnold's  says:  "To  a  nature  like 
his,  endowed  with  a  passion  for  perfection,  the 

158 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


necessity  to  produce  constantly,  to  produce 
whether  in  the  vein,  to  produce  something  good 
or  bad  or  middling  as  it  may  happen,  but  at  all 
events  something,  is  the  most  intolerable  of 
tortures.'"  It  was  his  passion  for  perfection, 
his  disdain  for  all  imperfect  poetical  work, 
which  made  Poe  so  severe  a  critic. 

Mr.  Gill  devotes  the  greater  part  of  his  ap 
pendix  to  an  account  of  the  proceedings  attend 
ing  the  unveiling  of  the  Poe  Monument  in 
Baltimore  in  November,  1875.  We  must  con 
demn  his  bad  taste  in  quoting  from  the  con 
temporary  account  of  the  ceremonial  such  pas 
sages  as  these :  "Mr.  William  F.  Gill,  who  has 
done  much  by  his  written  vindication  of  the 
poet's  memory  to  remove  false  impressions, 
gave  the  finest  rendition  of  "The  Raven"  to 
which  we  have  ever  listened.  The  large  audi 
ence  was  spellbound  by  his  perfect  elocution, 
and  his  resemblance  to  the  recognized  ideals 
of  Mr.  Poe  himself  made  the  personation  of 
his  horror  and  despair  almost  painful."  We 
were  present  on  this  occasion,  but  we  saw  no 
person  "spellbound."  We  have  seen  every 
likeness  of  Poe  extant,  but  we  fail  to  dis 
cover  any  resemblance  between  the  author  of 
"The  Raven"  and  Mr.  Gill.  Again  he  quotes: 
"After  the  monument  was  unveiled,  'Annabel 
Lee'  was  recited  in  the  same  masterly  manner 

159 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

by  Mr.  Gill."  Further  on  he  says:  "Poe's 
famous  poem,  "The  Raven,"  was  read  by  Mr. 
Gill,  who  was  made  the  recipient  of  an  ovation 
at  its  close  at  the  hands  of  the  audience."  Our 
presence  at  the  time  does  not  enable  us  clearly 
to  understand  what  he  means  by  "an  ovation 
at  the  hands  of  the  audience." 

The  melancholy  life  and  death  of  the  un 
happy  master  of  "The  Raven"  seem  to  have 
thrown  a  spell  over  all  his  later  biographers, 
especially  those  who  did  not  know  him  in  life. 
In  their  endeavor  to  present  him  to  the  world 
in  the  most  favorable  light,  they  have  not  been 
satisfied  to  represent  him  under  the  form  of  a 
cloud  with  a  silver  lining,  but  almost  as  a  re 
splendent  sun.  If  this  be  right,  then  the  pres 
ent  writer  is  wrong.  But  Mr.  Gill  stands 
facile  prince  ps  in  this  particular.  He  set  out 
with  the  fixed  determination  to  whiten  Poe  and 
blacken  Griswold.  Like  the  famous  knight  of 
La  Mancha,  he  attacked  all  obstructions  which 
stood  in  the  way,  and  the  result  has  been  that 
those  who  knew  Poe  will  scarcely  recognize 
him  as  painted  by  Mr.  Gill.  Still,  with  all  its 
faults,  the  work  is  interesting;  but  it  would 
have  been  much  more  valuable  had  the  ma 
terial  it  contains  been  placed  in  the  hands  of 
a  skilled  literary  man. 

We  now  turn  to  Mr.  Ingram's  biography. 
160 


ELIZABETH  POE, 

Mother     of     the     Poet. 


>     OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

Or 


oe  Cult 


To  him  belongs  the  credit  of  having  produced 
the  most  elaborate  and  complete  Life  of  Poe 
which  has  yet  been  given  to  the  world.  He  de 
tails  the  poet's  history  from  his  birth  in  Bos 
ton  in  1809,  to  his  death  in  Baltimore  in  1849. 

Mr.  Ingram  has  been  very  industrious  in 
collecting  the  material  for  his  work.  He  has 
gathered  all  facts  obtainable ;  but  he  has  writ 
ten  his  biography  in  a  spirit  of  childish  ad 
miration  of  Poe,  and  determined  hostility 
toward  all  other  biographers  of  the  poet.  He 
seems  to  labor  under  the  delusion  that  Ameri 
cans  neither  appreciated  the  genius  nor  knew 
anything  about  the  life  of  Poe  until  he  kindly 
enlightened  them.  Carlyle  says  the  fact  that,  a 
quarter  of  a  century  after  his  death,  interest  in 
Burns  continued  unabated  proves  that  the  poet 
was  not  a  common  man.  Interest  in  Poe  has 
not  only  not  abated  during  the  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century  which  has  elapsed  since 
his  death,  but  year  after  year  it  has  continued 
to  increase. 

When  Alexander  set  out  at  the  age  of 
twenty  to  conquer  the  world,  he  depended 
upon  his  sword,  with  hope  for  inspiration. 
When  Edgar  A.  Poe  set  out  at  the  age  of 
twenty  to  win  fame  and  fortune,  he  depended 
upon  his  pen.  It  was  a  brave  act  in  those  days 
of  our  country's  literary  poverty.  The  time 

161 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

had  passed  when  poets  were  the  chosen  com 
panions  of  statesmen  and  princely  merchants ; 
the  time  had  not  arrived  when  literary  men 
could  live  by  their  pens — yet  Poe,  with  a 
knightly  disdain  of  fear,  rushed  into  the  arena, 
choosing  Sydney's  brave  motto,  "Aut  viam  in- 
veniam  aut  faciam."  Collecting  his  verses  to 
gether,  he  published  them  under  the  name  of 
"Tamerlane  and  Minor  Poems,"  having  pre 
viously  sent  specimens  to  John  Neal,  who,  fifty 
years  ago,  was  a  prominent  journalist.  He 
was  at  that  time  the  editor  of  the  "Yankee," 
and  replied  to  the  aspiring  young  poet  in  the 
columns  of  his  paper:  "If  E.  A.  P.,  of  Balti 
more,  whose  lines  about  heaven,  which,  al 
though  nonsense,  are  rather  exquisite  non 
sense,  would  do  himself  justice,  he  might  make 
a  beautiful  and,  perhaps,  a  magnificent  poem." 
The  lines  referred  to  are  in  "Fairy-Land."  In 
response  to  this  first  recognition  of  his  ability 
to  do  something,  Poe  wrote  the  following  note : 
"I  am  young,  not  yet  twenty;  am  a  poet,  if 
deep  worship  of  all  beauty  can  make  me  one, 
and  wish  to  be  so  in  the  common  meaning  of 
the  word.  I  would  give  the  world  to  embody 
one-half  the  ideas  afloat  in  my  imagina 
tion  ...  I  appeal  to  you  as  a  man  that 
loves  the  same  beauty  that  I  adore — the  beauty 
of  the  natural  blue  sky  and  the  sunshiny  earth. 

162 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 

There  can  be  no  tie  more  strong  than  that  of 
brother  for  brother.  It  is  not  so  much  that 
they  love  one  another  as  that  they  both  love  the 
same  parent;  their  affections  are  always 
running  in  the  same  direction,  the  same  chan 
nel,  and  cannot  help  mingling.  I  am,  and  have 
been  from  my  childhood,  an  idler.  It  cannot, 
therefore,  be  said  that — 

'I  left  a  calling  for  this  idle  trade, 
A  duty  broke,  a  father  disobeyed/ 

for  I  have  no  father  nor  mother." 

It  does  not  appear  that  Poe's  first  literary 
venture  attracted  any  attention  or  had  any 
sale;  yet  the  little  volume  contains  thoughts 
and  suggestions  superior  in  point  of  imagina 
tion  to  anything  in  Byron's  early  poems.  In 
deed,  the  delicate  grace  and  musical  rhythm 
of  portions  of  "Tamerlane"  give  a  promise  of 
the  metrical  sweetness  which  distinguishes  all 
Poe's  poetry. 

The  young  poet  soon  discovered  that  the  way 
of  literature  was  far  from  being  a  "Primrose 
path;"  that  it  led  through  thorns  and  briers, 
with  but  a  few  flowers  to  cheer  the  weary  way. 
After  ten  years  of  literary  struggle,  we  find 
him,  in  1842,  anxious  to  obtain  a  livelihood 
"independent  of  letters."  Poe  had,  by  this 
time,  made  a  national  reputation  by  his  writ- 

163 


C&e  poe  Cult 


ings.  He  had  edited  with  distinguished  suc 
cess  the  "Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  the 
"Gentleman's  Magazine/'  and  "Graham's 
Magazine;"  he  had  written  "The  Fall  of  the 
House  of  Usher,"  "Ligeia,"  "William  Wilson," 
the  "Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,"  and  other 
tales  of  mystery  and  imagination;  he  had  pub 
lished  his  best  critical  essays,  and  some  of  his 
sweetest  lyrics — yet  he  writes  this  almost  de 
spairing  letter  to  a  friend,  asking  his  assist 
ance  in  securing  a  small  government  clerkship 
in  Washington : 

"I  wish  to  God  I  could  visit  Washington. 
But  the  old  story,  you  know — I  have  no  money, 
not  even  enough  to  take  me  there,  saying  noth 
ing  of  getting  back.  It  is  a  hard  thing  to  be 
poor,  but  as  I  am  kept  so  by  an  honest  mo 
tive,  I  dare  not  complain.  Your  suggestion 
about  Mr.  Kennedy  is  well  timed;  and  here, 
Thomas,  you  can  do  me  a  true  service.  Call 
upon  Mr.  Kennedy — you  know  him,  I  believe; 
if  not  introduce  yourself;  he  is  a  perfect  gen 
tleman,  and  will  give  you  a  cordial  welcome. 
Speak  to  him  of  my  wishes,  and  urge  him  to 
see  the  Secretary  of  War  in  my  behalf,  or  one 
of  the  other  Secretaries,  or  President  Tyler.  I 
mention,  in  particular,  the  Secretary  of  War, 
because  I  have  been  at  West  Point,  and  this 
may  stand  me  in  some  stead.  I  would  be  glad 

164 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


to  get  almost  any  appointment — even  a  $500 
one — so  that  I  may  have  something-  independ 
ent  of  letters  for  a  subsistence.  To  coin  one's 
brain  into  silver,  at  the  nod  of  a  master,  is,  to 
my  thinking,  the  hardest  task  in  the  world. 
Mr.  Kennedy  has  been  at  all  times  a  true  friend 
to  me — he  was  the  first  true  friend  I  ever 
had;  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  life  itself.  He 
will  be  willing  to  help  me  I  know,  but  needs 
urging,  for  he  is  always  head  and  ears  in  busi 
ness.  Thomas,  may  I  depend  upon  you?" 

It  is  not  known  what  steps  were  taken  to  ad 
vance  Poe's  interest  in  this  matter,  but  we 
know  that  he  failed  to  secure  "even  a  five-hun 
dred-dollar"  clerkship.  Had  he  obtained  a 
government  appointment,  it  is  not  very  likely 
that  he  would  have  kept  it.  He  would  have 
found  the  dull  routine  of  official  life  even  a 
harder  task  than  "coining  one's  brain  into  sil 
ver,  at  the  nod  of  a  master ;"  and  the  nervous 
restlessness  which  he  said  haunted  him  as  a 
fiend,  would  have  driven  him  back  to  literature 
as  a  relief. 

In  the  Winter  of  1845  tne  fame  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe  was  established  by  the  production  of  "The 
Raven."  The  almost  universal  verdict  of  the 
world  has  placed  this  among  the  famous  single 
poems,  like  the  "Elegy  in  a  Country  Church 
yard,"  the  "Deserted  Village,"  etc.  "The 

165 


Cult 


Raven"  fixes  the  attention  by  its  sad  and  mys 
terious  story,  its  rich  but  sombre  coloring,  and 
by  the  almost  miraculous  melody  of  its  rhythm. 
It  seems  wild  and  meaningless  upon  the  first 
perusal,  but  we  turn  to  it  again  and  again,  and 
our  interest  grows  by  what  it  feeds  upon.  Mr. 
James  E.  Murdock,  the  elocutionist,  prefaced 
his  reading  of  the  poem  by  saying  he  knew  Poe 
well,  and  from  his  conversations  with  the  poet 
he  understood  that  Lenore  was  intended  to  rep 
resent  his  happy  and  innocent  youth,  and  The 
Raven  his  dark  and  unhappy  manhood.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  the  informing  spirit  of  the  poem 
is: 

"The  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  named 
Lenore." 

An  ordinary  versifier  would  have  repeated 
this  beautiful  name  continually.  Poe  was  too 
consummate  a  literary  artist  for  that:  he  pro 
duced  a  better  effect  by  a  "masterly  frugality 
of  repetition/'  In  the  second  and  fifth  verses, 
by  its  "quick  and  sudden  duplication"  he  fixes 
Lenore  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  and  con 
tinually  suggests  it  in  all  the  other  verses,  until 
the  poem  closes  with  the  despairing  wail— 

"And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating 
on  the  floor 

Shall  be  lifted — nevermore!" 

166 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


It  has  been  said,  with  equal  truth  and 
beauty,  that  on  the  dusky  wings  of  the 
"Raven,"  Edgar  A.  Poe  will  sail  securely  over 
the  gulf  of  oblivion  to  the  eternal  shore. 

The  increased  reputation  which  followed  the 
publication  of  "The  Raven"  stimulated  Poe's 
literary  activity.  But,  with  all  his  fame  and 
work,  he  still  felt  it  hard  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door  with  no  other  weapon  than  his  pen. 
A  few  weeks  after  "The  Raven"  had  made  Poe 
the  lion  of  the  season,  we  find  him  writing  in 
the  "Broadway  Journal"  an  article  entitled, 
"Some  Secrets  of  the  Magazine  Prison 
House,"  which  "throws  a  lurid  light  upon  the 
mysteries  of  the  unfortunate  poet's  impecunios- 
ity."  In  this  mournful  paper  occurs  the  fol 
lowing  paragraph : 

"The  want  of  an  international  copyright 
law  by  rendering  it  nearly  impossible  to  obtain 
anything  from  the  booksellers  in  the  way  of 
remuneration  for  literary  labor,  has  had  the 
effect  of  forcing  many  of  our  best  writers  into 
service  of  the  magazines  and  reviews,  which, 
with  a  pertinacity  that  does  them  credit,  keep 
up  in  a  certain  or  uncertain  degree  the  good 
old  saying  that  even  in  the  thankless  field  of 
letters  the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire.  How 
— by  dint  of  what  dogged  instinct  of  the  honest 
and  proper — these  journals  have  continued  to 

167 


€&e  ppe  Cult 

persist  in  their  paying  practices  is  a  point  we 
have  had  much  difficulty  in  settling  to  our  satis 
faction,  and  we  have  been  forced  to  settle  it 
at  last  upon  no  more  reasonable  ground  than 
that  of  a  still  lingering  esprit  de  patrie.  That 
magazines  can  live  and  not  only  live  but  thrive, 
and  not  only  thrive  but  afford  to  disburse 
money  for  original  contributions,  are  facts 
which  can  only  be  solved,  under  the  circum 
stances,  by  the  really  fanciful  but  still  agree 
able  supposition  that  there  is  somewhere  still 
existing  an  ember  not  altogether  quenched 
among  the  fires  of  good  feeling  for  letters  and 
literary  men  that  once  animated  the  American 
bosom.  These  magazine  editors  and  pro 
prietors  pay  (that  is  the  word)  ;  and  with  your 
true  poor-devil  author  the  smallest  favors  are 
sure  to  be  thankfully  received.  No;  the  il- 
liberality  lies  at  the  door  of  the  demagogue- 
ridden  public,  who  suffer  their  anointed  dele 
gates  (or  perhaps  aroynted,  which  is  it?)  to 
insult  the  common  sense  of  them  (the  public) 
by  making  orations  in  our  national  halls  on  the 
beauty  and  conveniency  of  robbing  the  literary 
Europe  on  the  highway,  and  on  the  gross  ab 
surdity  in  especial  of  admitting  so  unprincipled 
a  principle  that  a  man  has  any  right  and  title 
either  to  his  own  brains  or  the  flimsy  material 
that  he  chooses  to  spin  out  of  them,  like  a  con- 

168 


C&c  P  o  £  Cult 

founded  caterpillar  as  he  is.  If  anything  of 
this  gossamer  character  stands  in  need  of  pro 
tection,  why,  we  have  our  hands  full  at  once 
with  the  silkworms  and  the  morns  multicaulis." 

Poe  suffered  as  much  as  any  author  of  his 
time  from  the  want  of  an  international  copy 
right  law  between  the  United  States  and  Great 
Britain.  His  tales  were  copied  constantly  into 
the  English  periodicals  and  translated  into  the 
French  Journals.  As  to  the  effects  of  travel 
on  literary  wares,  he  says: 

"It  is  astonishing  to  see  how  a  magazine 
article,  like  a  traveller,  spruces  up  after  cross 
ing  the  sea.  We  ourselves  have  had  the  honor 
of  being  pirated  without  mercy;  but  as  we 
found  our  articles  improved  by  the  process  (at 
least  in  the  opinion  of  our  countrymen),  we 
said  nothing,  as  a  matter  of  course.  We  have 
written  paper  after  paper  which  attracted  no 
attention  at  all  until  it  appeared  as  original  in 
Bentley's  'Miscellany5  or  the  Paris  'Charivari/ 
The  Boston  'Notion'  (edited  by  Rufus  W.  Gris- 
wold)  once  abused  us  very  lustily  for  having 
written  'The  House  of  Usher/  Not  long 
afterwards  Bentley  published  it  anonymously, 
as  original  with  itself;  whereupon  'The  No 
tion/  having  forgotten  that  we  wrote  it,  not 
only  lauded  it  ad  nauseam,  but  copied  it  in 
toto." 

169 


C6e  Poe  Cult 

We  regret  that  Mr.  Ingram  should  have 
violated  good  taste  and  decorum  by  entering 
into  the  disgraceful  squabbles  which  embit 
tered  the  last  years  of  Poe's  life.  It  would 
have  been  better  had  they  been  allowed  to  re 
main  buried  in  the  long  forgotten  journals  in 
which  they  were  first  published.  •  Whether 
Mr.  English  was  thrashed  or  Mr.  Briggs  had 
a  bottle-nose  are  questions  about  which  the 
present  and  future  generations  of  readers  will 
care  very  little.  Whether  one  man  was  a 
"vagabond"  and  another  the  "autocrat  of  all 
the  asses"  is  something  in  which  we  are  very 
slightly  interested;  but  in  Poe  himself,  both 
as  a  man  and  a  poet,  the  world  has  an  ever  in 
creasing  interest.  We  think,  therefore,  that  it 
will  be  a  pleasure  to  read  what  Prof.  Valen 
tine,  of  Richmond,  says  of  his  personal  appear 
ance: 

"His  brow  was  fine  and  expressive,  his 
eyes  dark  and  restless;  in  the  mouth,  firmness 
mingled  with  an  element  of  scorn  and  discon 
tent.  His  gait  was  firm  and  erect,  but  his 
manner  nervous  and  emphatic.  He  was  of  fine 
address  and  cordial  in  his  intercourse  with  his 
friends,  but  looked  as  though  he  rarely  smiled 
from  joy,  to  which  he  seemed  to  be  a  stranger ; 
that  might  be  partly  attributed  to  the  great 
struggle  for  self-control  in  which  he  seemed 

170 


C6e  pe  Cult 


to  be  constantly  engaged.  There  was  little 
variation  and  much  sadness  in  the  intonation 
of  his  voice,  yet  this  very  sadness  was  so  com 
pletely  in  harmony  with  his  history  as  to  ex 
cite  on  the  part  of  this  community  a  deep  in 
terest  in  him  both  as  a  lecturer  and  a  reader." 

The  Spring  of  1849  found  Poe  still  strug 
gling  to  make  a  living  by  literary  work.  He 
had  been  ill,  and  upon  becoming  convalescent, 
had  lapsed  into  a  melancholy  state  of  mind,  to 
which  he  now  became  habitually  subject.  He 
believed  himself  destined  to  an  early  death,  but 
his  haughty  soul  "defied  all  portents  of  im 
pending  doom."  To  an  astonishing  degree  he 
retained  his  hope  for  the  future  even  in  the 
midst  of  his  dreary  present.  Undaunted  by  the 
worst  blows  that  "unmerciful  disaster"  in 
flicted  upon  him,  he  determined  to  struggle  on 
and  on,  hoping  against  hope,  or,  if  despairing, 
to  follow  the  noble  advice  of  Burke — "even 
in  despair  to  work  on."  This  determination 
is  forcibly  expressed  in  a  letter,  which  about 
this  time  he  wrote  to  "Annie,"  one  of  the  most 
cherished  friends  of  his  lonesome  later  years: 

"You  know  how  cheerfully  I  wTote  to  you 
not  long  ago — about  my  prospects,  hopes ;  how 
I  anticipated  soon  being  out  of  difficulty.  Well ! 
all  seems  to  be  frustrated,  at  least  for  the  pres 
ent.  As  usual,  misfortune  never  comes  single, 

171 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


and  I  have  met  one  disappointment  after  an 
other.  The  'Columbian'  in  the  first  place, 
failed;  then  'Post's  Union'  (taking  with  it  my 
principal  dependence)  ;  then  the  'Whig  Review' 
was  forced  to  stop  paying  for  contributions; 
then  the  'Democratic/  then  (on  account  of  his 
oppression  and  insolence)  I  was  obliged  to 
quarrel  finally  with—  -;  and  then,  to  crown 
all,  the  '—  '  (from  which  I  anticipated  so 
much,  and  with  which  I  had  made  a  regular 
engagement  for  ten  dollars  a  week  through 
out  the  year)  has  written  a  circular  to  cor 
respondents,  pleading  poverty,  and  declining 
to  receive  any  more  articles;  more  than  this, 
the  'S.  L.  Messenger,'  which  owes  me  a  great 
deal,  cannot  pay  just  yet;  and,  altogether,  I  am 
reduced  to  'Sartain'  and  'Graham' — both  very 
precarious.  No  doubt,  Annie,  you  attribute 
my  'gloom'  to  these  events,  but  you  would  be 
wrong.  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  any  merely 
worldly  considerations,  such  as  these,  to  de 
press  me.  .  .  .  No;  my  sadness  is  unac 
countable — and  this  makes  me  the  more  sad.  I 
am  full  of  dark  forebodings.  Nothing  cheers 
or  comforts  me.  My  life  seems  wasted — the 
future  looks  a  dreary  blank ;  but  I  will  struggle 
on,  and  'hope  against  hope/  ' 

In  a  few  months  the  struggle  ended,  as  we 
all  know. 

172 


Cf)e  Poe  Cult 

From  a  long  and  careful  study  of  Poe's 
character,  it  does  not  appear  that  he  was  one 
of  the  most  amiable  of  human  beings;  but  at 
the  same  time  it  must  in  justice  be  admitted 
that  he  suffered  more  than  the  common  lot 
from  "the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous 
fortune."  From  his  second  to  his  eighteenth 
year,  he  lived  in  affluence,  and  was  taught  to 
consider  himself  the  sole  heir  to  a  splendid 
fortune,  when  suddenly,  without  warning,  he 
was  thrown  upon  the  world  friendless  and 
alone.  When  Tom  Jones  was  turned  out  of 
the  house  of  his  adopted  father,  Squire  All- 
worthy,  the  Squire  gave  him  sufficient  money 
to  enable  him  to  earn  an  honest  livelihood,  say 
ing,  "As  I  have  educated  you  like  a  child  of 
my  own,  I  will  not  turn  you  naked  into  the 
world."  Poe  received  no  such  treatment  from 
his  adopted  father :  he  was  dismissed  penniless. 
The  rest  of  his  life  was  one  continued  struggle 
against  poverty  and  want,  at  times  without 
the  simplest  necessaries  of  life.  Conscious  of 
possessing  rare  intellectual  gifts,  he  saw  him 
self  often  neglected  by  the  world  and  con 
demned  by  men  infinitely  his  inferiors  in  all 
things  except  worldly  knowledge.  It  cannot 
be  said  of  Poe  that,  like  a  block  of  marble,  he 
became  more  polished  and  statue-like  by  every 
stroke  of  misfortune.  On  the  contrary,  he  be- 

173 


Cult 


came  more  defiant,  desperate,  reckless,  but  not 
more  admirable.  The  companions  of  his  boy 
hood  and  early  youth  unite  in  saying  that  he 
was  a  fine,  generous  and  high-spirited  nature, 
and  attribute  the  change  which  took  place  in 
his  character  to  the  quarrel  with  Mr.  Allan  and 
its  consequences.  Some  of  his  summer  friends 
turned  away  from  him,  while  others  re 
proached  him  for  ingratitude,  not  knowing  the 
circumstances  of  the  case.  His  proud  and 
sensitive  spirit  keenly  felt  the  sudden  change 
from  wealth  to  poverty,  from  social  position 
to  neglect ;  and  then  began  that  unequal  battle 
with  the  world  which  ended  in  a  charity  hos 
pital  in  Baltimore.  Swift's  epitaph  should  be 
Poe's;  for  does  not  he  also  sleep  "ubi  saeva 
indignatio  cor  ulterius  lac er are  ne quiff 


174 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  POE'S  DEATH. 

Sleep  restfully  after  life's  fevered  dream ! 
Sleep  wayward  heart ! 

MRS.  SARAH  HELEN  WHITMAN. 

No  American  poet  has  attracted  more  at 
tention,  living  and  dead,  than  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
Nine  lives  of  him  have  been  written,  yet  about 
no  celebrated  writer  of  modern  times  has  it 
been  so  difficult  to  get  the  real  facts  of  his  life 
and  death.  According  to  some  of  his  biog 
raphers  he  mingled  among  men  like  a  bewild 
ered  angel ;  while  others  describe  him  as  a  pry 
ing  fiend,  or  an  Ismselite,  with  his  hands 
against  everyone  and  everyone's  against  him. 
The  time  and  place  of  his  birth  were  for  many 
years  uncertain;  even  now  some  of  his  biog 
raphers  still  differ  as  to  that  matter.  The 
place  of  his  burial  was  at  one  time  undecided, 
but  that  was  definitely  settled,  in  1875,  when 
his  remains  were  discovered  in  Westminster 
churchyard,  Baltimore,  and  a  monument  seven 
and  a  half  feet  high  erected  over  his  grave. 
The  cause  of  his  death,  and  the  circumstances 

175 


Clje  Poe  Cult 


attending  it,  have  not  yet  been  definitely  de 
termined,  and  everything  that  throws  any  light 
upon  the  subject  will  prove  interesting  to  his 
many  admirers. 

A  former  Baltimorean,  now  living  in  San 
Francisco,  gives  what  he  claims  to  be  a  true 
account  of  the  poet's  last  days  and  death. 
This  is  his  story:  "I  was  an  intimate  asso 
ciate  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe  for  years.  Much 
that  has  been  said  and  written  regarding  his 
death  is  false.  His  habitual  resort  in  Balti 
more  was  the  Widow  Meagher's  place.  This 
was  an  oyster-stand  and  liquor-bar  on  the  city 
front,  corresponding  in  some  respects  with  the 
coffee  houses  of  San  Francisco.  It  was  fre 
quented  much  by  printers,  and  ranked  as  a  re 
spectable  place,  where  parties  could  enjoy  a 
game  of  cards,  or  engage  in  social  conversa 
tion.  Poe  was  a  great  favorite  \vith  the  old 
woman.  His  favorite  seat  was  just  behind 
the  stand,  and  about  as  quiet  and  sociable  as 
an  oyster  himself.  He  went  by  the  name  of 
'Bard/  and  when  parties  came  into  the  shop, 
it  was  'Bard,  come  up  and  take  a  nip;'  or, 
'Bard,  come  and  take  a  hand  in  this  game/ 

"Whenever  the  Widow  Meagher  met  with 
any  incident  or  idea  that  tickled  her  fancy, 
she  would  ask  the  'Bard'  to  versify  it.  Poe 
always  complied,  writing  many  a  witty  couplet. 


Poe  Cult 


and  at  times  poems  of  some  length.  These 
verses,  quite  as  meritorious  as  some  by  which 
his  name  was  immortalized,  were  thus  frit 
tered  into  obscurity.  It  was  in  this  little  shop 
that  Poe's  attention  was  called  to  an  advertise 
ment  in  a  Philadelphia  paper  of  a  prize  for 
the  best  story;  and  it  was  there  that  he  wrote 
his  famous  'Gold  Bug/  which  carried  off  the 
hundred  dollar  prize.  [Incorrect.] 

'Toe  had  been  shifting  for  several  years  be 
tween  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  and  New  York. 
He  had  been  away  from  Baltimore  for  three  or 
four  months,  when  he  turned  up  one  evening 
at  the  Widow  Meagher's.  I  was  there  when 
lie  came  in.  He  privately  told  me  that  he  had 
been  to  Richmond,  and  was  on  his  way  North 
to  get  ready  for  his  wedding.  It  was  drink 
ing  all  around  and  repeat,  until  the  crowd  was 
pretty  jolly.  It  was  the  night  before  election, 
and  four  of  us,  including  Poe,  started  uptown. 
We  had  not  gone  half  a  dozen  squares  when 
we  were  nabbed  by  a  gang  of  men  who  were 
on  the  lookout  for  voters  to  'coop/  It  was  the 
practice  in  those  days  to  seize  people,  whether 
drunk  or  sober,  lock  them  up  until  the  polls 
were  opened,  and  then  march  them  around  to 
every  precinct,  where  they  were  made  to  vote 
the  ticket  of  the  party  that  controlled  the 
coop.  Our  coop  was  in  the  rear  of  an  engine 

177 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


house  on  Calvert  Street.  It  was  part  of  the 
game  to  stupefy  the  prisoners  with  drugged 
liquor.  Well,  the  next  day,  we  were  voted  at 
thirty-one  different  places,  and  over  and  over, 
it  being  as  much  a  man's  life  was  worth  to 
rebel.  Poe  was  so  badly  drugged  that  after 
he  was  carried  on  two  or  three  different 
rounds,  the  gang  said  it  was  no  use  to  vote  a 
dead  man  any  longer,  so  they  shoved  him  into 
a  cab  and  sent  him  to  a  hospital  to  get  him  out 
of  the  way. 

"The  commonly  accepted  story  that  Poe  died 
from  the  effects  of  dissipation  is  all  bosh.  It 
was  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  died  from  lauda 
num,  or  some  other  poison,  that  was  forced 
upon  him  in  the  coop.  He  was  in  a  dying  con 
dition  while  he  was  being  voted  around  the 
city.  The  story  by  Griswold  of  Poe's  having 
been  on  a  week's  spree  and  being  picked  up  on 
the  street  is  false.  I  saw  him  shoved  into  the 
cab  myself,  and  he  told  me  he  had  just  ar 
rived  in  the  city." 

The  above  narrative  will  form  an  interest 
ing  chapter  in  the  life  and  death  of  the  poet 
whose  life  was  a  romance  and  whose  death 
was  a  tragedy.  The  account  of  Poe's  last  days 
agrees  in  several  respects  with  the  account 
which  the  late  Chief  Judge  Neilson  Poe,  of 
Baltimore,  gave  to  the  present  writer.  It's 

178 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


painful  to  think  that  a  man  of  Poe's  wonderful 
genius  should,  after  a  life  of  intolerable 
misery,  die  in  the  wretched  manner  above  de 
scribed.  But,  it  must  now  be  admitted  that 
the  author  of  the  Raven  was  "cooped"  and 
drugged  to  death  by  political  roughs,  who 
used  the  hapless  poet  as  a  "repeater"  at  a  local 
election.  Others  have  vaguely  stated  this  be 
fore,  and  the  detailed  account  now  given  by 
one  who  was  with  Poe  at  the  time  confirms 
the  horrible  story. 


179 


Cfie  poe  Cult 


THE  GRAVE  OF  POE.* 

It  was  on  a  cold,  dull  and  dreary  day,  in  the 
Winter  of  1871,  while  attending  the  funeral 
of  Mrs.  Maria  Clemm,  the  aunt  and  mother- 
in-law  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  that  I  first  saw  the 
nameless  grave  of  that  gifted  but  most  un 
fortunate  poet.  She  died  the  day  before,  and 
her  last  request  was  to  be  buried  by  the  side 
of  her  "darling  Eddie/'  in  Westminster 
churchyard,  corner  of  Fayette  and  Greene 
Streets,  Baltimore.  No  stone  has  ever  marked 
the  place  of  his  burial,  though,  shortly  after 
his  death,  a  marble  was  prepared,  which  was 
accidentally  broken  in  the  stonecutter's  shop, 
only  a  few  days  before  it  was  to  be  erected.  It 
bore  the  following  inscription : 

"HIC 

TANDEM  FELICIS 

CONDUNTUR  RELIQUIAE 

EDGARI  ALLAN  POE. 

OBIIT  OCT.  7,  1849, 

AET  40. 

*Appleton's  Journal,  January  27,  1872. 
*Several  statements  in  this  article  I  have  since  discovered 
were  incorrect 

180 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

"Hie  tandem  felicis!"  Here  at  last  he  is 
happy ! 

Can  anything  be  more  beautifully  pathetic? 
Here,  misguided  child  of  genius,  victim  of 
want,  of  disappointment,  and  of  thy  own  fiery 
passions,  thou  didst  find  that  peace  which  was 
denied  thee  during  life! 

In  my  conversations  with  Mrs.  Clemm,  she 
gave  me  many  interesting  facts  about  Poe's 
personal  appearance,  his  dress,  etc.  He  was 
five  feet  eight  and  a  quarter  inches  high; 
slightly  but  elegantly  formed;  his  eyes  were 
dark  gray,  almond-shaped,  with  long  black 
lashes;  his  forehead  was  broad,  massive,  and 
white ;  his  mouth  and  teeth  were  beautiful ;  he 
wore  a  long  but  not  heavy  mustache;  his  hair 
was  dark  brown,  almost  black,  and  curly;  his 
feet  and  hands  small  as  a  woman's.  He  was 
very  neat — even  fastidious — about  his  dress; 
was  fond  of  gray  clothes;  he  always  wore  a 
turndown  collar  and  black  cravat. 

His  custom  was  to  walk  up  and  down  his 
library  when  engaged  in  literary  composition. 
He  never  sat  down  to  write  until  he  had  ar 
ranged  the  plot,  the  characters,  and  even  the 
language  he  was  to  use.  To  this  may  be  at 
tributed  the  extraordinary  finish  which  his 
compositions  display. 

The  true  story  of  Poe's  death  has  never 
181 


Clje  poe  Cult 

been  correctly  told.  It  is  this :  In  the  Summer 
of  1849,  ne  l^t  New  York  for  Virginia.  In 
Richmond  he  met  Mrs.  Elmira  Shelton,  whom 
he  had  known  in  his  youth,  renewed  his  ac 
quaintance,  and  in  a  few  weeks  they  were  en 
gaged  to  be  married.  He  wrote  to  his  friends 
in  the  North  that  he  should  pass  the  remainder 
of  his  life  in  Virginia,  where  the  happiest  days 
of  his  youth  had  been  spent.  Early  in  Octo 
ber  he  set  out  from  Richmond  to  fulfill  a  liter 
ary  engagement  in  New  York,  and  to  prepare 
for  his  marriage,  which  was  to  take  place  on 
the  i/th  of  the  month.  Arriving  in  Baltimore, 
he  found  that  he  had  missed  the  Philadelphia 
train  which  he  expected  to  take,  and  would 
have  to  wait  two  or  three  hours  for  the  next 
train.  He  went  to  a  restaurant  near  the  depot 
to  get  some  refreshments.  There  he  met  some 
of  his  old  West  Point  friends,  who  invited  him 
to  a  champagne  supper  that  night.  He  ac 
cepted  the  invitation,  and  went.  At  first  he  re 
fused  to  drink,  but  at  last  he  was  induced  to 
take  a  glass  of  champagne.  That  set  him  off, 
and  in  a  few  hours  he  was  madly  drunk.  In 
this  state  he  wandered  off  from  his  friends, 
was  robbed  and  beaten  by  ruffians,  and  left  in 
sensible  in  the  street  all  night.  The  next  morn 
ing  he  was  picked  up  and  taken  to  the  Wash 
ington  Hospital.  He  was  delirious  with  brain 

182 


CDe  Poe  Cult 


fever.  He  was  well  cared  for  by  the  physicians 
of  the  Hospital,  but  he  was  beyond  the  skill 
of  doctors.  He  lingered  two  or  three  days,  and 
died  on  Sunday,  October  7,  1849.  The  above 
was  told  me  by  Mrs.  Clemm. 

Washington  Irving  sweetly  says  of  the 
grave:  "It  buries  every  error,  covers  every 
defect,  extinguishes  every  resentment.  From 
its  peaceful  bosom  springs  none  but  fond  re 
grets  and  tender  recollections.  Who  can  look 
down  upon  the  grave  even  of  an  enemy,  and 
feel  not  a  compunctious  throb  that  he  should 
ever  have  warred  with  the  poor  handful  of 
dust  that  lies  mouldering  before  him !" 

Let  us,  then,  forget  the  errors  of  Edgar  Poe, 
remembering  the  lines  of  Stoddard: 

"He  lies  in  dust,  and  the  stone  is  rolled 

Over  the  sepulchre  dim  and  cold; 

He  has  cancelled  all  he  has  done  or  said, 

And  gone  to  the  dear  and  holy  dead. 

Let  us  forget  the  path  he  trod, 

And  leave  him  now  to  his  Maker,  God !" 


183 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


THE  POE  MONUMENT/ 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  author  of 
"The  Raven"  has  been  sleeping  in  the  quiet 
graveyard  attached  to  Westminster  church,  in 
the  city  of  Baltimore.  Among  the  beautiful 
monuments  which  adorn  the  fair  Monumental 
City,  not  even  the  humblest  has  been  reared  in 
honor  of  him  whose  genius  the  world  delights 
to  honor.  Baltimore  has  commemorated  the 
patriot,  the  soldier,  the  mechanic ;  but  her  most 
gifted  son  has  hitherto  been  neglected — as  no 
stone  has  ever  marked  the  hallowed  spot  where 
genius  reposes.  Strangers  have  come  from 
distant  lands  to  visit  the  grave  of  Poe  as  to  a 
pilgrim's  shrine.  They  anticipated  no  diffi 
culty  in  finding  the  grave  of  so  distinguished 
a  poet;  they  expected  to  be  guided  to  the  spot 
by  a  suitable  monument,  and  to  meet  there 
other  admirers  of  Poe,  bending  in  respect  and 
reverence,  perchance  plucking  a  flower,  a  leaf, 
a  twrig,  from  the  well-kept  grave.  Great  has 
been  the  astonishment  of  these  distant  travel 
lers,  when,  after  much  inquiry  and  diligent 
search,  they  at  last  found  the  grave  of  Edgar 

184 


'£     I' 


Bto 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  MONUMENT,  BALTIMORE. 

(Unveiled  Nov.   17,  1875.) 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

A.  Poe — a  wretched,  forlorn,  forsaken  spot, 
in  an  obscure  corner  of  an  obscure  churchyard. 
Rank  weeds  cover  the  neglected  mound — but 
none  of  the  violets  and  roses  and  pansies  which 
the  poet  loved. 

Such  for  more  than  twenty-five  years  was 
the  last  resting  place  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  until 
the  1 7th  of  November,  1875,  when  the  monu 
ment  in  honor  of  the  poet  was  dedicated.  In 
striking  contrast  with  this  interesting  occasion 
was  the  scant  ceremony,  on  the  dreary  Autumn 
afternoon,  twenty-six  years  before,  when  the 
mortal  remains  of  the  author  of  the  Raven 
were  privately  buried  among  his  ancestors  in 
Westminster  churchyard.  On  the  8th  of  Octo 
ber,  1849,  a  single  carriage  followed  the  poet's 
body  to  the  grave.  On  the  I7th  of  November, 
1875,  the  Poe  monument  was  unveiled  in  the 
presence  of  an  immense  assemblage  represent 
ing  the  wealth  and  culture  of  Baltimore.  The 
ceremonies  began  with  the  performance  of  the 
"Pilgrim's  Chorus,"  of  Verdi,  by  the  Phil 
harmonic  Society;  followed  by  a  history  of  the 
movement  which  culminated  in  the  erection  of 
the  monument.  Upon  the  conclusion  of  this 
address,  Miss  Sara  Sigourney  Rice,  professor 
of  elocution  of  the  Western  Female  High 
School  of  Baltimore,  read  the  letters  received 
from  the  poets  and  other  distinguished  persons 

185 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

who  were  invited  to  be  present  at  the  unveiling. 
The  orator  of  the  occasion,  Prof.  Henry  E. 
Shepherd,  at  that  time  the  Superintendent  of 
Public  Instruction  in  Baltimore,  then  delivered 
a  scholarly  address  upon  the  Character  and 
Literary  Genius  of  Poe,  in  which  he  said  that 
in  him  literary  culture  and  artistic  taste  were 
combined  with  poetic  genius,  producing  the 
richest  and  rarest  results  that  any  poet  in  the 
century  had  done,  and,  in  those  remarkable 
productions  of  his  genius,  the  "Raven"  and 
"Annabel  Lee,"  he  attained  a  graceful  mastery 
over  the  subtle  and  delicate  metrical  forms, 
even  those  to  whose  successful  production  the 
spirit  of  the  English  tongue  is  not  congenial. 
After  alluding  to  the  frequent  tributes  to  Poe's 
genius  which  had  appeared  in  leading  British 
periodicals,  the  orator  went  on  to  say  that  this 
"lofty  estimate  of  his  powers  is  not  confined 
to  those  lands  in  which  the  English  language 
is  the  vernacular  speech;  it  has  extended  into 
foreign  climes,  and  aroused  appreciative  ad 
miration  where  English  literature  is  imper 
fectly  known  and  slightly  regarded." 

Then  followed  some  personal  reminiscences 
of  Poe  by  Mr.  John  H.  B.  Latrobe,  a  dis 
tinguished  lawyer  of  Baltimore.  He  said: 
About  the  year  1832  there  was  a  newspaper  in 
Baltimore  called  The  Saturday  Visitor.  One 

1 86 


C&e  poe  Cult 


of  its  efforts  was  to  procure  original  tales,  and 
to  this  end  it  offered  on  this  occasion  two 
prizes,  one  for  the  best  story,  and  the  other  for 
the  best  short  poem — $100  for  the  first,  and 
$50  for  the  last.  The  judges  appointed  by  the 
editor  of  the  Visitor  were  the  late  John  P. 
Kennedy,  Dr.  James  H.  Miller,  also  deceased, 
and  myself;  and  accordingly  we  met,  one  pleas 
ant  afternoon  in  October,  1833.  As  I  hap 
pened  to  be  the  youngest  of  the  three,  I  was 
requested  to  open  the  packages  of  poetry  and 
prose,  respectively,  and  read  the  contents. 
Alongside  of  me  was  a  basket  to  hold  what 
we  might  reject.  Most  of  the  manuscripts 
were  namby-pamby  in  the  extreme,  and  the 
committee  had  about  made  up  their  minds  that 
there  was  nothing  to  which  they  could  award 
a  prize,  when  I  noticed  a  small  quarto  bound 
book  that  had,  until  then,  accidentally  escaped 
attention,  possibly  because  so  unlike  externally 
the  bundles  of  manuscripts  it  was  to  compete 
with.  Opening  it,  an  envelope  with  a  motto 
corresponding  with  one  in  the  book  appeared, 
and  we  found  that  our  prose  examination  was 
still  incomplete.  Instead  of  the  common  manu 
script,  the  writing  was  in  Roman  characters — 
an  imitation.  As  I  read  we  all  became  deeply 
interested,  and  I  was  constantly  interrupted 
by  such  exclamations  as  "Capital,  "excellent/' 

187 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


"how  odd,"  and  the  like.  There  was  genius 
in  every  line,  there  was  no  uncertain  gram 
mar,  no  feeble  phraseology;  no  ill-placed 
punctuation,  no  worn-out  truisms,  no  strong 
thought  elaborated  into  weakness.  Logic  and 
imagination  were  combined  in  rare  consist 
ency.  When  the  reading  was  completed,  there 
was  a  difference  of  choice ;  but  finally  the  com 
mittee  selected  "A  Manuscript  found  in  a  Bot 
tle."  One  of  the  series  was  called  "A  Descent 
into  the  Maelstrom/'  and  this  was  at  one  time 
preferred.  There  must  have  been  six  or  eight 
tales  in  all.  The  statement  in  Dr.  Griswold's 
life  prefixed  to  the  common  edition  of  Poe's 
works,  that  "it  was  unanimously  decided  by 
the  committee  that  the  prize  should  be  given 
to  the  first  of  geniuses  who  had  written  legibly 
—not  another  manuscript  was  unfolded,"  is 
absolutely  untrue.  The  selection  being  made, 
and  the  $100  prize  awarded  because  of  the  un 
questionable  genius  and  great  originality  of  the 
writer,  we  were  at  liberty  to  open  the  envelope 
that  identified  him,  and  there  we  found,  in  the 
note  whose  motto  corresponded  with  that  on 
the  little  volume,  the  name  of  Edgar  A.  Poe. 

Mr.  Poe  called  at  my  office  the  following 
Monday  to  thank  me,  as  one  of  the  commit 
tee,  for  the  award  in  his  favor.     I  asked  him 
then  if  he  was  occupied  with  any  literary  labor. 
188 


Poe  Cult 


He  replied  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  voyage 
to  the  moon!  and  at  once  began  to  describe 
the  journey  with  so  much  animation  that  for 
all  that  I  now  remember,  I  may  have  fancied 
myself  the  companion  of  his  aerial  journey. 
When  he  had  finished  his  description,  he  apolo 
gized  for  his  excitability,  which  he  laughed  at 
himself.  Dr.  Griswold's  statement  "that  Mr. 
Kennedy  accompanied  Poe  to  a  clothing  store 
and  purchased  for  him  a  respectable  suit,  with 
a  change  of  linen,  and  sent  him  to  a  bath"  is 
a  sheer  fabrication.  I  never  saw  Poe  again. 

At  the  close  of  Mr.  Latrobe's  address  the 
assemblage  withdrew  from  the  hall  and  went 
to  the  churchyard,  where  the  interesting  cere 
mony  of  unveiling  the  Monument  took  place. 
This  was  performed  by  Miss  Sara  S.  Rice, 
who,  from  first  to  last,  had  taken  the  most 
active  interest  in  the  erection  of  the  monu 
ment.  She  was  assisted  by  the  ladies  who 
took  part  in  the  first  literary  entertainment  in 
aid  of  the  Poe  Monument  Association,  in  the 
Autumn  of  1865.  As  the  drapery  gracefully 
fell  from  the  marble,  the  Philharmonic  Society 
of  Baltimore,  composed  of  one  hundred  of  the 
best  singers  in  the  city,  chanted  a  dirge  which 
had  been  composed  for  the  occasion  by  Mrs. 
Eleanor  A.  Fullerton. 

The  dirge  was  listened  to  in  silence,  and  with 
189 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


bowed  heads,  by  the  immense  assemblage.  As 
the  voices  died  away,  Mrs.  James  A.  Gates, 
who  was  then  performing  at  Ford's  Opera 
House,  and  in  behalf  of  the  joint  companies 
of  the  theatres  of  Baltimore,  placed  a  magnifi 
cent  crown  on  the  top  of  the  monument. 

The  monument  is  made  of  the  purest  white 
marble  from  Maryland  quarries.  It  stands 
upon  a  granite  base  about  eight  feet  high,  and 
is  placed  over  the  poet's  grave  in  the  most  con 
spicuous  corner  of  the  cemetery.  The  monu 
ment  is  simple  and  chaste,  having  few  orna 
ments.  It  recalls  in  some  respects  the  monu 
ment  to  Shakespeare,  recently  erected  at  Vic 
toria  Park,  Bath,  England,  though  it  is  su 
perior  to  this,  however,  in  the  simplicity  of  its 
design.  It  also  bears  a  resemblance  to  the 
Wordsworth  monument  at  Grasmere,  Eng 
land.  It  has  on  one  side  a  finely  executed  me 
dallion  bust  of  the  poet,  taken  from  a  photo 
graph  copy  of  an  original  daguerreotype.  It 
is  said  to  be  an  excellent  likeness.  Beneath  the 
bust  is  inscribed  the  name,  "Edgar  Allan  Poe." 
On  the  opposite  side  is  the  following  inscrip 
tion: 

Born  January   igth,   1809. 

Died  October  7th,  1849. 


190 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


PORTRAITS  OF  POE. 

One  of  Mrs.  Whitman's  most  striking  poems 
was  inspired  by  a  portrait  of  Edgar  A.  Poe, 
received  many  years  after  the  death  of  the 
poet: 

Slowly  I  raised  the  purple  folds  concealing 
That  face,  magnetic  as  the  morning's  beam 

While  slumbering  memory  thrilled  at  its  revealing, 
Like  Memnon  waking  from  his  marble  dream. 

Again  I  saw  the  brow's  translucent  pallor, 
The  dark  hair  floating  o'er  it  like  a  plume; 

The  sweet  imperious  mouth,  whose  haughty  valor 
Defied  all  portents  of  impending  doom. 

The  eyes  of  her  poet-lover  made  an  indelible 
impression  upon  her  mind  and  heart,  and 
twenty-five  years  after  their  sad  separation,  in 
recalling  the  poetic  beauty  of  his  face,  she  thus 
described  them : 

Eyes  planet  calm,  with  something  in  their  vision 
That  seemed  not  of  earth's  mortal  mixture  born; 

Strange  mythic  faiths  and  fantasies  Elysian, 
And  far,  sweet  dreams  of  "fairy  lands  forlorn." 

191 


Clje  Poe  Cult 

Unfathomable  eyes  that  held  the  sorrow 
Of  vanished  ages  in  their  shadowy  deeps, 

Lit  by  that  prescience  of  a  heavenly  morrow 
Which  in  high  hearts  the  immortal  spirit  keeps. 

Sweet  mournful  eyes,  long  closed  upon  earth's  sorrow, 
Sleep  restfully  after  life's  fevered  dream ! 

Sleep,    wayward    heart ;    till    on    some    cool,    bright 

morrow, 
Thy  soul,  refreshed,  shall  bathe  in  morning's  beam. 

The  picture  that  inspired  these  remarkable 
verses  was  taken  at  Providence,  R.  I.,  at  the 
time  of  Poe's  engagement  to  Mrs.  Whitman. 
It  represents  the  poet  in  the  full  maturity  of 
his  manly  beauty,  before  his  fine  mobile  mouth 
had  become  disfigured  by  the  habitual  sneer 
which  so  plainly  marked  his  "lonesome  latter 
years."  One  of  the  last  pictures  of  the  author 
of  the  Raven,  of  which  the  vignette  upon 
the  title  page  of  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman's  dainty 
little  work,  "Edgar  Allan  Poe,"  is  a  re 
duced  copy,  was  from  a  daguerreotype  of  the 
poet,  owned  by  Dr.  H.  S.  Cornwell,  of  New 
London,  Conn.,  who  thus  describes  it:  "The 
aspect  is  one  of  mental  misery,  bordering 
on  wildness,  disdain  of  human  sympathy,  and 
scornful  intellectual  superiority.  There  is 
also  in  it,  I  think,  dread  of  imminent  calamity, 
coupled  with  despair  and  defiance,  as  of  a 
hunted  soul  at  bay." 

192 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


Mr.  Stedman,  whose  brochure  on  Poe,  as 
revised  and  corrected  from  the  Scribner 
Monthly  article,  is  one  of  the  finest  and  most 
appreciative  critiques  on  the  life  and  genius  of 
the  poet  that  has  ever  been  written,  devotes 
considerable  attention  to  his  portraits,  and  thus 
characterizes  the  man  from  his  early  and  later 
pictures : 

Even  as  we  drive  out  of  mind  the  popular 
conceptions  of  his  nature,  and  look  only  at  the 
portraits  of  him  in  the  flesh,  we  needs  must 
pause  and  contemplate,  thoughtfully,  and  with 
renewed  feeling,  one  of  the  marked  ideal  faces 
that  seem — like  those  of  Byron,  De  Musset, 
Heine — to  fulfill  all  the  traditions  of  genius,  of 
picturesqueness,  of  literary  and  romantic 
effect. 

We  see  one  they  describe  as  slight  but  erect 
of  figure,  athletic  and  well  molded,  of  middle 
height,  but  so  proportioned  as  to  seem  every 
inch  a  man ;  his  forehead  and  temples  large  and 
not  unlike  those  of  Bonaparte;  his  hands  fair 
as  a  woman's — in  all,  a  graceful,  well-dressed 
gentleman — one,  even  in  the  garb  of  poverty, 
"with  gentleman  written  all  over  him."  We 
see  the  handsome,  intellectual  face,  the  dark 
and  clustering  hair,  the  clear  and  sad  eyes, 
large,  lustrous,  glowing  with  expression — the 
mouth,  whose  smile  at  least  was  sweet  and 

193 


^r  fi  £  it>)  Q  £  (jr  u  ( j 

winning.  We  imagine  the  soft,  musical  voice 
(a  delicate  thing  in  man  or  woman),  the  easy, 
quiet  movement,  the  bearing  that  no  failure 
could  humble.  And  this  man  had  not  only  the 
gift  of  beauty — but  the  passionate  love  of 
beauty — either  of  which  may  be  as  great  a 
blessing  or  peril  as  can  befall  a  human 
being  stretched  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough 
world. 

But  look  at  some  daguerreotype  taken 
shortly  before  his  death,  and  it  is  like  an  in 
auspicious  mirror,  that  shows  all  too  clearly 
the  ravage  made  by  a  vexed  spirit  within,  and 
loses  the  qualities  which  only  a  living  artist 
could  feel  and  capture.  Here  is  a  dramatic, 
defiant  bearing,  but  with  it  the  bitterness  of 
scorn.  The  disdain  of  an  habitual  sneer  has 
found  an  abode  on  the  mouth,  yet  scarcely  can 
hide  the  tremor  of  irresolution.  In  Bendann's 
likeness,  indubitably  faithful,  we  find  those 
hardened  lines  of  the  chin  and  neck  that  are 
often  visible  in  men  who  have  gambled  heavily, 
which  Poe  did  not  in  his  mature  years,  or  who 
have  lived  loosely  and  slept  ill.  The  face  tells 
of  battling,  of  conquering  external  enemies, 
of  many  a  defeat  when  the  man  was  at  war 
with  his  meaner  self. 

The  "Bandann"  likeness  above  alluded  to,  is 
said  to  be  copied  from  the  last  daguerreotype 

194 


OF 


C&e  poe  Cult 


taken  in  Richmond,  just  ten  days  before  Poe's 
untimely  death.  A  photograph  of  this  daguer 
reotype  forms  the  frontispiece  to  the  Memorial 
Volume  of  the  ceremonial  attending  the  unveil 
ing  of  the  Poe  Monument  in  Baltimore,  No 
vember  17,  1875.  Mrs.  Whitman,  in  a  letter 
to  the  present  writer,  dated  Providence,  July  2, 
1876,  thus  alludes  to  another  copy  of  the  same 
portrait : 

Harper's  Weekly,  in  its  account  of  the 
Memorial  services,  had  a  wood-cut  taken  from 
this  portrait,  whether  from  the  original  or 
some  copy  I  cannot  say,  but  it  was  the  finest 
portrait  of  him,  the  handsomest  and  most  life 
like  that  I  have  ever  seen.  Do  you  remember 
it?  I  should  like  to  see  a  fine  engraving  of 
that  portrait  as  it  is  presented  in  Harper.  It 
would  be  invaluable.  The  expression  is  en 
tirely  different  from  the  copies  of  the  same  por 
trait  in  Widdleton's. 

In  another  letter  Mrs.  Whitman  says: 

The  picture  in  the  Memorial  Volume  is 
from  Redfield's  illustrated  8vo  edition  of  the 
poems,  but  the  proportions  are  changed:  the 
chest  seems  narrower  and  more  contracted; 
the  neck  is  longer ;  the  shoulders  more  sloping, 
and  the  whole  figure  has  a  clerkly  and  clerical 
air  very  unlike  the  original. 

One  of  the  earliest  pictures  of  Poe  was  a 


CM  poe  Cult 

miniature  once  owned  by  Duval,  in  Philadel 
phia,  from  which  was  copied  the  lithograph 
published  in  the  Saturday  Museum  in  1843, 
which  may  still  be  seen  (in  proof)  in  the 
Pennsylvania  Historical  Society  Collection  of 
lithographs.  Next  in  order  of  time  may  be 
mentioned  the  engraving  in  Graham's  Maga 
zine  in  1845,  accompanying  the  now  famous 
article  on  Poe  by  James  Russell  Lowell.  One 
who  knew  the  poet  at  this  period  of  his  life 
says: 

Everything  about  him  distinguished  him  as 
a  man  of  mark;  his  countenance,  person,  and 
gait  were  alike  characteristic.  His  features 
were  regular  and  decidedly  handsome.  His 
complexion  was  clear  and  dark;  the  color  of 
his  fine  eyes  seemingly  a  dark  gray,  but  on 
closer  inspection  they  were  seen  to  be  of  that 
neutral,  violet  tint  which  is  so  difficult  to  de 
fine.  His  forehead  was  without  exception  the 
finest  in  proportion  and  expression  that  we 
have  ever  seen.  The  perceptive  organs  were 
not  deficient,  but  seemed  pressed  out  of  the 
way  by  causality,  comparison,  and  construct- 
iveness.  Close  to  these  rose  the  proud  arches 
of  ideality. 

Some  who  knew  Poe  personally  say  his  fore 
head  retreated.  This  feature  is  brought  out 
only  in  the  Graham  picture.  In  all  the  others 

196 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

he  is  so  posed  as  to  give  the  effect  of  great 
fullness  to  the  brows.  Mrs.  Whitman,  who  re 
membered  Poe  as  distinctly  as  any  person  who 
had  seen  him  in  life,  said  the  engraved  por 
traits  of  the  poet  have  very  little  individuality ; 
that  prefixed  to  the  volumes  edited  by  Dr. 
Griswold  suggests,  at  first  view,  something  of 
the  general  contour  of  his  face,  but  is  utterly 
void  of  character  and  expression;  it  has  no 
sub-surface.  The  original  painting,  now  in 
possession  of  the  New  York  Historical  So 
ciety,  has  the  same  cold,  automatic  look  that 
makes  the  engraving  so  valueless  as  a  portrait 
to  those  who  remember  the  unmatched  glory 
of  his  face,  when  roused  from  its  habitually 
introverted  and  abstracted  look  by  some 
favorite  theme  or  profound  emotion.  Perhaps, 
from  its  peculiarly  changeful  and  translucent 
character,  any  adequate  transmission  of  its 
variable  and  subtle  moods  was  impossible.  By 
writers  personally  unacqauinted  with  Poe,  this 
engraving  has  often  been  favorably  noticed. 
Hannay,  in  a  memoir  prefixed  to  the  first  Lon 
don  edition  of  Poe's  Poems,  calls  it  an  interest 
ing  and  characteristic  portrait: 

A  fine,  thoughtful  face,  with  lineaments  of 
delicacy,  such  as  belong  only  to  genius  or  high 
blood — the  forehead  grand  and  pale,  the  eye 
dark  and  gleaming  with  sensibility  and  soul — 

197 


Cult 


a    face    to    inspire    men    with    interest    and 
curiosity. 

In  the  Winter  of  1855-56,  Mrs.  Whitman 
was  an  occasional  visitor  at  the  house  of  Alice 
and  Phoebe  Gary,  which  formed  a  "sort  of 
fragrant  and  delicious  clovernook"  in  the  heart 
of  New  York.  The  home  of  the  gifted  sisters 
was  at  that  time  the  favorite  resort  of  poets, 
artists,  and  men  of  letters.  In  their  little 
drawing  room  then  hung  the  portrait  of  Poe 
by  Osgood,  now  in  the  New  York  Historical 
Gallery  (already  mentioned).  Mrs.  Whitman 
relates  that  she  heard  one  of  the  party  say  of 
the  portrait  that  its  aspect  was  that  of  a  beau 
tiful  and  desolate  shrine  from  which  the 
genius  had  departed,  and  that  it  recalled  cer 
tain  lines  to  one  of  the  antique  marbles : 

Oh  melancholy  eyes ! 
Oh  empty  eyes,  from  which  the  soul  has  gone 

To  see  the  far-off  countries ! 

Near  this  luminous  but  impassive  face,  with 
its  sad  and  soulless  eyes,  says  Mrs.  Whitman, 
was  a  portrait  of  Poe's  unrelenting  biog- 
raphist,  Griswold.  In  a  recess  opposite  hung 
a  picture  of  the  fascinating  Mrs.  Frances  Sar 
gent  Osgood,  whose  genius  both  had  so  fer 
vently  admired,  and  for  whose  coveted  praise 
and  friendship  both  had  been  competitors. 
Looking  at  the  beautiful  portrait  of  this  lady 

198 


C&e  poe  Cult 


—the  face  so  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  dreamy, 
tropical  sunshine — remembering  the  eloquent 
words  of  her  praise,  as  expressed  in  the  prodi 
gal  and  passionate  exaggerations  of  her  verse, 
one  ceases  to  wonder  at  the  rivalries  and 
enmities  which  the  grave  itself  could  not  can 
cel  or  appease. 

Of  the  portrait  prefixed  to  the  illustrated 
poems,  published  by  Redfield  in  1859,  N.  P. 
Willis  says: 

The  reader  who  has  the  volume  in  his  hand 
turns  back  musingly  to  look  upon  the  features 
of  the  poet,  in  whom  resided  such  inspiration. 
But,  though  well  engraved  and  useful  as  re 
calling  his  features  to  those  who  knew  them, 
with  the  angel  shining  through,  the  picture  is 
from  a  daguerreotype,  and  gives  no  idea  of 
the  beauty  of  Edgar  Poe.  The  exquisitely 
chiselled  features,  the  habitual  but  intellectual 
melancholy,  the  clear  pallor  of  the  complexion, 
and  the  calm  eye  like  the  molten  stillness  of  a 
slumbering  volcano,  composed  a  countenance 
of  which  this  portrait  is  but  the  skeleton. 
After  reading  the  Raven,  Ulalume,  Lenore, 
and  Annabel  Lee,  the  luxuriast  in  poetry  will 
better  conceive  what  his  face  might  have 
been. 

Nine  lives  of  Poe  have  been  published,  each 
of  which  contains  a  portrait,  more  or  less  dif- 

199 


Cult 


ferent,  but  all  claiming  to  be  the  "best"  like 
ness.  Ingram's  ambitious  but  egotistical 
Memoir  contains  a  photographic  copy  of  a 
daguerreotype  belonging  to  Mrs.  Estelle  Anna 
Lewis.  It  is  a  very  forbidden  likeness,  and 
must  have  been  taken  when 

Unmerciful  Disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs  one 

burden  bore — 

Till  the  dirges  of  his  Hope  that  melancholy  burden 
bore 

of  Never — nevermore. 

We  turn  away  with  a  shudder  from  this  "sor 
row-laden"  face,  wondering  what  had  wrought 
the  terrible  change  in  him  whose  early  beauty 
had  won  the  highest  admiration  of  both  men 
and  women.  Was  it  his  own  hand  that  struck 
the  fatal  blow  that  destroyed  at  once  his  beauty 
and  happiness?  Was  the  change  caused  by 
retributions  of  conscience,  which  he  had  de 
scribed  with  such  awful  fidelity  in  William 
Wilson,  the  Tell-Tale  Heart,  and  The  Man  of 
the  Croivd?  The  rapid  descent  in  crime  as  de 
lineated  in  William  Wilson  reminded  Mrs. 
Whitman  of  the  subterranean  staircase  by 
which  Vathek  and  Nouronihar  reached  the 
Hall  of  Eblis,  where,  as  they  descended,  they 
felt  their  steps  frightfully  accelerated  till  they 
seemed  falling  from  a  precipice. 

200 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


In  Gill's  quixotic  Memoir  is  a  portrait  copied 
from  a  daguerreotype  taken  from  life,  which 
the  biographer  says  "represents  the  poet  in  his 
youthful  prime,  and  by  one,  a  near  friend  of 
Poe,  who  has  seen  all  his  pictures  known  to  be 
in  existence,  is  pronounced  the  best  likeness  ex 
tant/'  The  same  portrait  is  in  the  Red  Line 
edition  of  Poe's  Poems.  An  idealized  engrav 
ing  of  the  Osgood  portrait  accompanies  the 
Life  of  Poe  by  the  writer  of  this  article.  It  re 
calls  the  striking  face  of  the  poet  to  the  few 
now  living  who  knew  him  in  his  better  days. 
The  portrait  in  Mr.  George  E.  Woodberry's 
Life  of  Poe,  recently  published,  is  from  an 
original  daguerreotype,  from  which  the  en 
graving  in  the  English  edition  of  the  complete 
works  was  taken.  It  is  owned  by  Mr.  Sted- 
man,  and  was  a  gift  from  Mr.  Benjamin  H. 
Ticknor. 

The  likeness  known  as  the  "John  Thomp 
son"  daguerreotype  has  been  reproduced  life 
size  in  crayon,  and  has  been  pronounced  the 
most  satisfactory  likeness  of  Poe.  The  two 
engravings  made  by  Sartain,  of  Philadelphia, 
were  very  good  in  proof,  but  less  successful 
in  their  completed  state.  In  the  rooms  of  the 
Long  Island  Historical  Society,  Brooklyn, 
is  a  curious  portrait  made  from  memory  after 
Poe's  death  by  Gabriel  Harrison,  author  of  the 

201 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


Life  of  John  Howard  Payne.  I  have  never 
seen  it,  but  it  has  been  warmly  praised  by  some 
who  have. 

When  we  remember  the  strange  diversity  of 
character  displayed  in  the  portraits  of  Edgar 
A.  Poe,  we  are  more  and  more  inclined  to  be 
lieve  that 

Two  natures  in  him  strove 
Like  day  with  night,  his  sunshine  and  his  gloom. 


202 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


THE  POE  MANIA. 

The  irony  of  fate  was  never  more  strikingly 
displayed  than  in  the  case  of  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
A  life  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  a  wretched 
death,  and  a  splendid  posthumous  fame — such 
was  the  malevolent  destiny  of  America's  great 
est  genius.  The  first  editions  of  those  ex 
traordinary  tales  and  marvelous  poenjs,  for 
which  Poe  received  a  beggarly  compensation, 
are  now  fought  for  by  wealthy  collectors.  In 
1827  the  first  edition  of  Poe's  Poems  was 
printed  in  Boston — printed,  but  not  published, 
"for  private  reasons."  I  strongly  suspect  that 
"the  private  reasons"  why  the  first  edition  of 
Poe's  Poems  was  not  published  was  because  the 
poet  had  not  the  money  to  pay  for  the  print 
ing.  That  little  book  of  forty  pages  in  the 
course  of  time  became  one  of  the  rarest  books 
in  the  world.  As  it  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of 
literature,  it  will  be  interesting  to  many  readers 
to  have  its  title  page  in  full.  I  have  copied  it, 
as  follows: 

203 


oe  Cult 


TAMERLANE,  AND  OTHER  POEMS, 

By  a  Bostonian. 

Young  heads  are  giddy,  and  young  hearts  are  warm, 
And  make  mistakes  for  manhood  to  reform. 

Cowper. 
BOSTON : 

CALVIN  F.  S.  F.  THOMAS,  PRINTER. 
1827. 

An  autograph  dealer,  not  renowned  for  pay 
ing  extravagant  prices  for  what  he  buys,  of 
fered  $500  for  the  original  manuscript  of  the 
Raven.  The  pecuniary  value  placed  upon  it  by 
the  present  owner  is  $10,000. 

One  of  the  most  enthusiastic  admirers  of 
Poe  is  John  H.  Ingram,  of  London.  He  spent 
several1  years  and  some  money  in  collecting 
everything  bearing  upon  his  favorite  subject 
—books,  portraits,  letters,  magazine  articles, 
etc.  He  had  agents  in  several  cities  of  the 
United  States  picking  up  material  of  every  de 
scription.  He  not  only  collected  portraits  of 
Poe,  but  of  every  person  in  any  way  associated 
with  him.  For  instance,  he  wanted  a  portrait 
of  Thomas  Jefferson,  not  because  he  was  the 
author  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and 
President  of  the  United  States,  but  because  he 
was  the  Founder  of  the  University  of  Vir 
ginia,  where  Poe  was  educated;  he  wanted  a 
likeness  of  Lafayette,  not  because  he  was  a 
hero  and  a  patriot,  but  because  he  was  a  friend 

204 


Cult 


of  the  poet's  grandfather,  Gen.  Poe  of  the 
American  Revolution ;  he  wanted  a  portrait  of 
Margaret  J.  Preston,  not  because  she  was  a 
gifted  poetess,  but  because  her  husband  was  a 
schoolmate  of  Poe  in  Richmond;  he  wanted  a 
portrait  of  George  W.  Childs,  not  because  he 
was  a  famous  American  editor,  but  because 
he  contributed  largely  toward  the  Poe  monu 
ment  which  was  erected  in  Baltimore  in  No 
vember,  1875;  he  wanted  a  portrait  of  John 
Tyler,  not  because  he  was  a  President  of  the 
United  States,  but  because  his  son,  Robert 
Tyler,  was  one  of  Poe's  early  friends,  and  so 
on.  These  things  show  what  a  wonderful 
hold  Poe  has  upon  those  afflicted  with  the  Poe 
mania.  The  literature  of  the  world  scarcely 
offers  anything  to  compare  with  it.  Byron, 
Milton,  Tennyson,  Keats,  Shelley,  and  other 
famous  poets  do  not  possess  the  same  in 
terest. 

A  file  of  the  Broadway  Journal,  of  which 
Poe  was  the  editor,  will  sell  for  a  sum  that 
would  have  supported  the  little  family  at  Ford- 
ham  in  comfort  for  a  year.  It  was  in  the  cot 
tage  there  that  the  poet's  wife  died  in  un 
speakable  wretchedness  in  the  Winter  of  1847, 
a  calamity  which,  as  the  distracted  husband 
wrote  at  the  time,  so  overwhelmed  him  as  to 
deprive  him  for  several  weeks  of  all  power  of 

205 


Cult 


thought  or  action.  It  was  at  this  cottage  that 
he  wrote  the  Bells,  Annabel  Lee,  and  the  won 
derful  prose  poem,  Eureka. 

Old  magazines  in  which  Poe's  poems  and 
tales  originally  appeared  are  eagerly  sought 
for  by  Poe  enthusiasts.  I  have  known  odd  vol 
umes  of  Southern  Literary  Messenger  to  bring 
as  high  as  $5.00  a  volume  simply  because  Poe 
was  once  its  editor.  For  the  same  reason 
Graham's  Magazine  brings  an  extravagant 
price;  it  would  have  little  value  except  for 
Poe's  association  with  it,  although  at  one  time 
it  had  a  circulation  of  40,000  a  month — an 
enormous  circulation  sixty  years  ago. 

This  extraordinary  Poe  mania  began  about 
thirty  years  ago,  and  has  continued  with  ever- 
increasing  violence  ever  since.  It  is  confined, 
generally,  to  one  sex,  but  extends  to  all  classes 
and  conditions  of  men — lawyers,  editors,  au 
thors,  professors,  men  of  leisure,  etc.  The 
beginner  never  knows  where  he  will  end.  In 
fact,  he  ends  only  with  his  money,  or  his  life. 
The  most  patient  wife  must  have  her  temper 
ruffled  when  she  sees  her  house  littered  up  with 
a  miscellaneous  collection  of  stuff,  neither  use 
ful  nor  ornamental,  purchased  at  an  outlay 
which,  if  expended  on  furniture  and  decora 
tions,  would  have  made  her  home  the  House 
Beautiful. 

206 


C&e  poe  Cult 


THE    SEMI-CENTENNIAL   OF   AMER 
ICA'S  FAMOUS  POET. 

The  semi-centennial  of  the  death  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  possesses  a  melancholy  interest  for 
all  who  admire  genius,  and  have  a  pity  for  the 
misfortunes  that  so  often  attend  those  who 
receive  the  fateful  gift.  No  American  poet, 
living  or  dead,  has  attracted  more  attention 
than  the  author  of  "The  Raven."  Nine  lives 
of  him  have  been  written,  yet  about  no  cele 
brated  poet  of  modern  times  has  it  been  more 
difficult  to  obtain  the  real  facts  of  both  his  life 
and  death.  According  to  some  of  his  biog 
raphers,  he  mingled  among  men  as  a  be 
wildered  angel ;  while  others  describe  him  as  a 
prying  fiend;  or,  an  Ishmaelite,  with  his  hands 
against  everyone,  and  everyone's  against  him. 
The  time  and  place  of  his  birth  were  for  many 
years  uncertain;  even  now  some  of  his  biog 
raphers  still  differ  upon  the  subject.  The 
place  of  his  burial  was  at  one  time  undecided, 
but  that  was  definitely  settled,  in  1875,  when 
his  remains  were  discovered  in  Westminster 
churchyard,  Baltimore,  and  a  monument 
erected  over  his  grave. 

Born  in  poverty,  reared  in  luxury,  and 
207 


C6e  poe  Cult 


thrown  upon  the  world  without  a  dollar,  he 
lived  and  died  a  mystery.  When  Alexander 
the  Great  set  out  to  conquer  the  world,  he  de 
pended  upon  his  sword.  Edgar  Poe,  at  the 
same  age  as  the  great  Macedonian,  was  com 
pelled  to  depend  upon  his  pen  for  a  living  at  a 
time  when  literature  was  not  recognized  as  a 
profession  in  this  country,  and  when  the  re 
wards  of  even  the  highest  literary  talent  were 
beggarly  in  the  extreme. 

The  sad  and  romantic  story  of  Poe's  life  has 
touched  a  sympathetic  chord  in  the  heart  of 
the  world.  Never  before  or  since  has  so  much 
misery  been  united  to  so  much  genius.  Be 
lievers  in  heredity  see  in  him  a  remarkable  ex 
ample  of  the  truth  of  their  opinion.  His 
father,  David  Poe,  Jr.,  a  Baltimore  law  stu 
dent,  ran  off  with  and  married  Elizabeth 
Arnold,  an  English  actress.  The  husband 
adopted  his  wife's  profession.  After  a  wan 
dering  life  of  toil  and  poverty,  they  both  died 
within  a  few  weeks  of  each  other,  leaving 
three  children.  Edgar,  the  second  son,  was 
adopted  by  a  Mr.  Allan,  a  wealthy  merchant 
of  that  city,  who,  after  rearing  him  as  the 
heir  of  a  princely  fortune,  cut  him  off  without 
a  shilling.  Homeless  and  penniless,  Edgar 
wandered  to  Baltimore,  where  he  found  a  home 
in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Clemm,  his  father's  sis- 

208 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

ter.  He  married  his  lovely  young  cousin,  Vir 
ginia  Clemm,  and  the  three  formed  a  happy 
little  household  until  the  death  of  his  child- 
wife  in  the  midst  of  heartrending  poverty, 
caused  by  the  constant  watching  of  the  poet  by 
the  sick  bed  of  the  sufferer,  deprived  him  of 
his  only  means  of  support — his  pen. 

"Ah,  broken  is  the  golden  bowl !  the  spirit  flown  for 
ever ! 

Let  this  bell  toll !  a  saintly  soul  floats  on  the  Stygian 
river ! 

Come,  let  the  burial  rite  be  read — the  funeral  song  be 
sung! 

An  anthem  for  the  queenliest  dead  that  ever  died  so 
young — 

A  dirge  for  her,  the  doubly  dead,  in  that  she  died  so 
young." 

In  Lenore,  in  Annabel  Lee,  in  Eulalie,  and 
other  poems,  Poe  embalmed  the  memory  of  his 
wife  in  immortal  dirges. 

From  the  intolerable  sorrow,  caused  by  the 
loss  of  his  fair  and  gentle  wife,  Poe  was 
aroused  to  a  temporary  forgetfulness  by  the 
affectionate  sympathy  of  Sarah  Helen  Whit 
man,  the  most  gifted  poetess  of  New  England. 
For  a  few  brief  weeks  they  were  engaged  to 
be  married.  Why  the  engagement  was  broken 
has  never  been  satisfactorily  explained,  but 
that  Poe  was  not  blameable  in  the  matter  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Whitman  re- 

209 


Cf)e  Poe  Cult 

mained  his  friend,  and  was  his  enthusiastic  de 
fender  as  long  as  she  lived.  One  of  her  last 
poems  was  to  "The  Portrait  of  Poe,"  in  which 
she  pays  a  beautiful  tribute  to  his  genius,  and 
offers  a  touching  proof  of  her  devotion  to  his 
memory. 

In  striking  contrast  were  the  first  and  last 
funerals  of  Edgar  A.  Poe.  On  that  dreary 
Autumn  day  in  1849,  when  the  most  original 
of  American  poets  was  laid  to  rest  among  his 
ancestors,  in  Westminster  churchyard,  only  one 
carriage  followed  the  remains  to  the  grave. 
The  ceremony  was  scant,  and  the  attendants 
were  scantier,  for  eight  persons  only  were  pres 
ent.  Poe  had  died  under  a  cloud — the  hapless 
victim  of  "unmerciful  disaster" — his  last  hours 
were  passed  in  the  charity  ward  of  a  public 
hospital;  he  was  buried  in  a  poplar  coffin, 
stained  to  imitate  walnut;  it  was  a  funeral 
such  as  a  poor  man,  with  few  friends  and  no 
relatives,  might  have  had. 

The  account  given  of  Poe's  funeral,  by  Dr. 
John  J.  Moran,  in  his  "Defense  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe,"  is  known  to  be  incorrect  and  misleading. 
For  instance,  he  gives  the  names  of  eight  per 
sons  as  present  at  the  funeral,  only  two  of 
whom  were  there.  They  were  Rev.  W.  T.  D. 
Clemm  and  Mr.  Henry  Herring,  both  of  whom 
were  relatives  of  Poe.  The  other  persons  who 

210 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

attended  the  first  burial  were:  Z.  Collins  Lee, 
afterwards  judge  of  the  Superior  Court  of 
Baltimore,  who  had  been  a  classmate  of  Poe 
at  the  University  of  Virginia;  Neilson  Poe, 
afterwards  chief  judge  of  the  Orphans'  Court 
of  Baltimore;  Edmund  Smith,  a  well-known 
school-teacher  in  Baltimore  fifty  years  ago, 
and  his  wife,  who  was  a  first  cousin  of  the 
poet;  Dr.  J.  E.  Snodgrass,  the  last  editor  of 
the  Baltimore  Saturday  Visitor,  the  paper  from 
which  Poe  received  the  $100  prize  offered  for 
the  best  story. 

Another  of  Dr.  Moran's  misstatements  is 
that  the  body  of  the  poet  was  laid  in  state 
in  the  large  room  in  the  rotunda  of  the  college 
building  adjoining  the  hospital,  that  "hundreds 
of  his  friends  and  acquaintances  came  to  see 
him,  that  at  least  fifty  ladies  received  locks 
of  his  hair."  Poe  had  not  a  dozen  friends  in 
Baltimore,  and  if  "fifty  ladies  received  locks 
of  his  hair,"  the  poet's  cranium  must  have  been 
reduced  to  the  appearance  of  a  billiard  ball. 
What  became  of  those  coveted  "locks"  from 
the  head  that  conceived  "The  Raven,"  "The 
Gold  Bug,"  "The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher," 
"The  Bells,"  and  other  marvelous  tales  and 
poems  that  have  thrilled  the  world  for  fifty 
years?  In  these  days,  when  a  letter  written 
by  Poe  readily  brings  $200  in  the  autograph 

211 


C&e  JE>oe  Cult 


market,  a  lock  of  the  poet's  hair  would  be 
worth  a  small  fortune  to  its  owner.  The  "fifty 
ladies"  who  received  "locks  of  Poe's  hair"  ex 
isted  only  in  Dr.  Moran's  imagination;  he 
wished  to  throw  a  little  sympathy  and  senti 
ment  around  the  horrible  tragedy  of  Poe's 
wretched  death.  The  doctor's  intention  was 
good,  but  we  are  dealing  with  facts,  not  fiction 
—we  are  writing  history,  not  romance.  The 
picture,  stripped  of  all  romance  and  sentiment, 
is  ghastly  enough  to  suit  the  most  melodra 
matic  play  that  ever  stirred  the  lieges  in  the 
Bowery  Theatre. 

The  second  burial  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  took 
place  on  the  I7th  of  November,  1875.  The 
occasion  was  interesting  and  remarkable.  The 
ceremonies  took  place  in  the  large  hall  of  the 
building  then  used  as  the  Western  Female 
High  School,  on  the  corner  of  Fayette  and 
Greene  Streets,  adjoining  Westminster  church, 
in  the  graveyard  of  which  the  body  of  the 
poet  had  rested  for  twenty-six  years  without 
a  stone  to  show  that  it  was  the  grave  of  the 
most  unique  genius  that  America  has  given  to 
the  world.  Among  those  seated  upon  the  plat 
form  were:  Walt  Whitman,  Dr.  Nathan  Cov- 
ington  Brooks,  in  whose  Baltimore  Magazine 
some  of  Poe's  early  writings  had  appeared; 
Dr.  J.  E.  Snodgrass,  Prof.  Joseph  Clarke,  who 

212 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

was  Poe's  first  teacher  in  Richmond;  John  T. 
Morris,  the  President  of  the  Baltimore  School 
Board ;  Neilson  Poe,  Rev.  Dr.  John  G.  Morris, 
Vice  President  and  afterwards  President  of 
the  Maryland  Historical  Society;  John  T. 
Ford,  Manager  of  Ford's  Grand  Opera  House; 
Prof.  William  Elliot,  Jr.,  President  of  the 
Baltimore  City  College;  Henry  E.  Shepherd, 
Superintendent  of  the  Public  Schools  of  Balti 
more. 

The  exercises  opened  with  the  reading  of 
the  history  of  the  movement  for  the  erection 
of  the  monument,  by  Prof.  Elliot;  this  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  reading  of  the  letters  written  by 
Tennyson,  Swinburne,  Longfellow,  Holmes, 
Aldrich,  Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston,  and  Mrs. 
Sarah  Helen  Whitman;  with  poetic  tributes 
from  Paul  H.  Hayne  and  Stephane  Mallarme, 
the  French  admirer  of  Poe.  The  best  of  the 
poetic  tributes  was  written  by  William  Winter, 
entitled,  "At  Poe's  Grave."  Two  stanzas  from 
this  touchingly  sympathetic  poem  wrill  give  an 
idea  of  the  tender  grace  of  charity  that  in 
spired  the  poet : 

Through  many  a  year  his  fame  has  grown — 
Like  midnight,  vast ;  like  starlight,  sweet — 

Till  now  his  genius  fills  a  throne, 
And  Nations  marvel  at  his  feet. 

213 


C^fte  Poe  Cult 

One  meed  of  justice  long  delayed, 

One  crowning  grace  his  virtues  crave— 
Ah,  take,  thou  great  and  injured  shade, 
The  love  that  sanctifies  the  grave. 

Prof.  Shepherd  delivered  a  masterly  address 
on  the  "Genius  and  Literary  Character  of 
Poe/'  at  the  conclusion  of  which  he  con 
gratulated  the  audience  that  "The  Poetic  cor 
ner  of  our  Westminster  was  at  last  rescued 
from  the  ungrateful  neglect  which  for  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century  has  constituted  the  just  re 
proach  of  our  state  and  our  metropolis.  In 
the  dedication  of  this  monument  to  the  memory 
of  our  poet,  I  recognize  an  omen  of  highest 
and  noblest  import,  reaching  far  beyond  the 
mere  preservation  of  his  fame  by  the  'dull, 
cold  marble/  which  marks  his  long-neglected 
grave."  Prof.  Shepherd's  address  was  listened 
to  with  profound  attention.  Mr.  John  H.  B. 
Latrobe,  the  last  survivor  of  the  committee  of 
three  gentlemen  who  awarded  the  prize  to 
Poe  for  the  best  prose  tale,  then  gave  some 
personal  reminiscences  of  the  poet,  after  which 
the  audience  proceeded  to  Westminster  church 
yard,  where  the  unveiling  of  the  monument 
took  place.  During  the  ceremony  of  the  un 
veiling  the  Philharmonic  Society  chanted  the 
dirge,  "Sleep  and  Rest,"  which  was  adapted 
from  Tennyson's  "Sweet  and  Low,"  by  Mrs. 

214 


Cle  poe  Cult 


Eleanor  Fullerton.  Poe's  mother  had  been  an 
actress  at  the  Holliday  Street  Theatre,  Balti 
more,  and  an  interesting  feature  of  the  cere 
monies  upon  the  occasion  of  the  last  burial  of 
our  poet  was  the  placing-  upon  the  monument 
of  a  beautiful  wreath  composed  of  camelias, 
lilies  and  tea  roses,  a  tribute  from  the  com 
pany  at  Ford's  Grand  Opera  House,  gotten  up 
through  the  active  zeal  of  Mrs.  Germon,  the 
veteran  actress.  The  funds  for  this  monu 
ment  were  largely  raised  through  the  efforts 
of  Miss  Sara  S.  Rice,  of  the  Western  Female 
High  School,  who  also  took  a  prominent  part 
in  the  exercises. 

How  striking  the  difference  between  the  first 
and  last  burial  of  Edgar  A.  Poe !  The  former 
was  a  funeral  such  as  is  given  to  the  poor,  the 
obscure,  the  friendless;  the  latter  was  a 
magnificent  demonstration  in  honor  of  a  poet 
who  has  bestowed  more  glory  upon  American 
literature  than  any  other  American  author. 


Cfte  Poe  Cu  I 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  EDGAR  A.  POE. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  Poe's  death, 
his  enemies  had  the  ear  of  the  world.  The 
weakness  of  human  nature  makes  us  listen 
with  willing  ears,  and  with  more  pleasure  to 
blame  than  to  praise.  The  lies  that  were  told 
about  Poe,  the  crimes  that  were  recklessly  im 
puted  to  him,  the  dark  stories  that  were  laid  at 
his  door,  the  vile  slanders  that  were  repeated 
about  him,  with  "ghoulish  glee,"  must  have 
delighted  "the  demons  down  under  the  sea." 
Poe  was  scarcely  cold  in  his  grave  before 
Rufus  W.  Griswold  published  his  malignant 
Memoir  of  the  Poet,  which,  for  twenty-five 
years,  was  accepted  as  the  true  story  of  the 
life  and  death  of  the  author  of  "The  Raven." 
With  few  exceptions,  this  mendacious  memoir 
was  followed  in  all  subsequent  biographies 
of  Poe;  and,  naturally,  for  Griswold  was  sup 
posed  to  be  his  trusted  friend  and  chosen  biog 
rapher.  The  world  did  not  know  that  Gris 
wold,  smarting  under  Poe's  severe  but  well- 
deserved  criticism  of  his  "Poets  and  Poetry  of 
America, '  had  nursed  his  wrath  and  kept  it 

216 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

warm  until  the  poet  was  dead  and  helpless,  and 
then  told  his  venomous  story.  Of  this  biog 
raphy,  one  who  knew  Poe  well  has  truly  said, 
that,  "compared  with  its  remorseless  violations 
of  confided  trust,  the  unhallowed  act  of  Tre- 
lawney  in  removing  the  pall  from  the  feet  of 
the  dead  Byron,  seems  guiltless." 

It  should  be  unnecessary,  at  this  late  day, 
when  ten  lives  of  Poe  have  been  published,  to 
point  out  Griswold's  numerous  misstatements, 
false  charges,  and  insinuations,  which  were 
employed  with  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  lago, 
were  it  not  much  easier  to  start  a  falsehood 
than  to  stop  it  when  it  is  once  on  its  travels. 

Conversing  with  an  accomplished  woman, 
one  evening,  the  name  of  Poe  was  mentioned, 
when  she  exclaimed: 

"What  a  strange  contrast  between  the  poet 
and  his  poetry!  In  his  poetry  he  ascends  to 
the  sky ;  in  his  life  he  grovelled  upon  the  earth. 
With  a  love  of  the  beautiful  that  takes  us  back 
to  the  most  glorious  days  of  Greece,  his  de 
graded  life  takes  us  back  to  the  days  of  the 
drunken  Helots.  His  poetry  is  all  as  sweet  and 
pure  as  wild  flowers,  while  his  life  was  one 
wild  debauch." 

This  is  given  as  a  fair  specimen  of  the  opin 
ion  that  still  prevails  among  many  intelligent 
persons  of  the  poet.  Too  many  persons  who 

217 


Ci)e  Poe  Cult 

should  know  better  still  believe  that  Poe  was 
a  drunken  vagabond,  a  literary  Ishmael,  a 
Pariah  among  poets.  He  was  devoted  to  his 
young,  beautiful,  and  accomplished  wife,  and 
her  death,  under  distressing  circumstances, 
unparalleled  in  literary  annals,  destroyed  his 
health,  and,  for  a  time,  drove  reason  from  its 
imperial  throne.  I  knew  Mrs.  Clemm,  in  the 
last  years  of  her  life,  and  visited  her  with 
youthful  enthusiasm,  as  the  "more  than 
mother"  of  the  poet.  She  told  me  that  "Eddie" 
(as  she  always  called  him)  was  the  most 
gentle,  affectionate  and  devoted  of  husbands 
and  sons — that  he  never  went  to  bed  at  night 
without  asking  her  blessing,  and,  if  he  had 
done  anything  to  displease  her,  he  would  kneel 
at  her  feet,  and  humbly  ask  her  forgiveness. 
This  was  the  man  who,  Griswold  said,  "had 
no  faith  in  man  or  woman."  This  was  the 
man  whom  Griswold  pronounced  "naturally 
unamiable,  irascible,  envious,  self-satisfied, 
self-confident."  N.  P.  Willis,  who  knew  Poe 
intimately,  declared  that  he  possessed  the  very 
qualities  which  his  enemies  denied  to  him— 
humility,  belief  in  another's  kindness,  and 
capability  of  cordial  and  grateful  friendship. 
Willis  remembered  him  with  respect  and  ad 
miration,  saying  that  his  "modesty  and  un 
affected  humility  as  to  his  own  deservings  were 

218 


Cbe  Poe  Cult 

a  constant  charm  to  his  character."  Poe  not 
only  had  the  greatest  "faith  in  woman,"  but 
women,  the  best,  the  most  refined,  the  most 
cultivated  women,  had  the  greatest  faith  in 
him.  Mrs.  Frances  Sargent  Osgood,  speaking 
of  her  own  "affectionate  interest"  in  Poe,  said: 
"No  woman  could  know  him  personally  with 
out  feeling  the  same  interest — he  was  so 
gentle,  generous,  well-bred  and  refined.  To  a 
sensitive  and  delicately  nurtured  woman,  there 
was  a  peculiar  and  irresistible  charm  in  the 
chivalric,  graceful  and  almost  tender  rever 
ence  with  which  he  approached  all  women." 
"So  far  from  being  selfish  and  heartless,"  said 
Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  "his  devotional 
fidelity  to  those  he  loved  would,  by  the  world, 
be  regarded  as  fanatical."  He  carried  his 
chivalry  to  the  fair  sex  so  far  that  when 
women  were  the  subjects  of  his  criticism,  his 
usually  stern  and  severe  opinions  were  greatly 
modified,  and,  as  he  himself  said,  "I  cannot 
point  an  arrow  against  any  woman." 

Poe  lived  and  died  a  mystery  to  himself,  to 
his  friends,  and  to  the  world.  We  know  that 
his  life  was  a  romance,  his  death  a  tragedy, 
that  his  fame  is  immortal,  and  that  never  be 
fore  nor  since  has  so  much  misery  been  united 
to  so  much  genius.  He  is  the  most  interesting 
and  picturesque  personality  in  American  lit- 

219 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

erature.  His  strange  and  romantic  life  has 
always  possessed  a  singular  fascination  for  me, 
while  his  wonderful  poems,  and  still  more 
wonderful  tales  have  been  my  literary  passion 
since  boyhood.  When  still  in  my  teens,  I  was 
presented  with  the  original  four-volume  edi 
tion  of  Poe's  works  containing  Griswold's  in 
famous  memoir.  I  could  not  reconcile  the  dark 
story  of  the  poet's  life,  as  there  told,  with  the 
purity,  beauty,  and  refinement  of  his  writings. 
I  began  a  systematic  study  of  his  life;  I  put 
myself  in  communication  with  his  surviving 
friends  and  relatives,  personally  and  by  letter ; 
I  saw  Professor  Joseph  H.  Clarke,  his  first 
teacher  in  Richmond;  I  visited  the  University 
of  Virginia,  and  secured  the  recollections  of 
Mr.  William  Wertenbaker,  the  librarian,  who 
was  at  the  University  when  Poe  was  a  stu 
dent  there;  I  corresponded  with  Col.  J.  T.  L. 
Preston,  a  former  schoolmate  of  the  poet;  I 
consulted  my  father-in-law,  the  late  Gen. 
Lucius  Bellinger  Northrop,  who  was  the  last 
survivor  of  Poe's  classmates  at  West  Point ;  I 
called  on  Mr.  John  H.  B.  Latrobe,  one  of  the 
committee  of  gentlemen  who  awarded  the  prize 
to  Poe  for  the  best  tale;  I  interviewed  Judge 
Neilson  Poe,  the  nearest  surviving  relative  of 
the  poet;  I  became  acquainted  with  Mrs. 
Clemm,  in  the  last  years  of  her  life;  I  sought 

220 


Ct>e  Poe  Cult 


out  Gabriel  H.  Harrison,  one  of  the  last  of 
Poe's  friends;  I  went  to  Richmond,  and  had  a 
talk  with  Mr.  Valentine,  the  brother  of 
Edward  V.  Valentine,  the  distinguished  sculp 
tor,  who  retained  a  vivid  recollection  of  Poe's 
appearance  when  he  delivered  his  lecture  in 
Richmond  on  "The  Poetic  Principle,"  on  his 
last  visit  there  in  1849;  but  the  best  of  all  my 
achievements  in  search  of  Poeana  was  a  cor 
respondence  with  Sarah  Helen  Whitman, 
Poe's  most  devoted  friend. 

Professor  Clarke,  after  over  half  a  century, 
recalled  with  much  interest  and  manifest  pleas 
ure  Edgar  Poe  as  one  of  his  pupils  at  his  school 
in  Richmond.  He  said :  "The  boy  was  a  born 
poet,  and,  as  a  scholar,  he  was  anxious  to  excel, 
and  always  acquitted  himself  well  in  his 
classes.  He  was  remarkable  for  self-respect, 
without  haughtiness.  In  his  demeanor  toward 
his  playmates,  he  was  strictly  just  and  correct, 
which  made  him  a  general  favorite.  His  pre 
dominant  passion  seemed  to  me  to  be  an  en 
thusiastic  ardor  in  everything  he  undertook. 
Even  in  those  early  years,  he  displayed  the 
germs  of  that  wonderfully  rich  and  splendid 
imagination  which  has  placed  him  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  purely  imaginative  poets  of  the 
world.  While  the  other  boys  wrote  mere  me 
chanical  verses,  Poe  wrote  genuine  poetry,  and 

221 


C6e  poe  Cult 


he  wrote  it  not  as  a  task,  but  con  aniore." 
When  Professor  Clarke  left  Richmond  in  1823, 
young  Poe  addressed  to  his  beloved  teacher  a 
poem  which  was  a  remarkable  production  for 
a  boy  of  fourteen.  In  after  years,  the  Profes 
sor  was  proud  of  his  distinguished  pupil,  and 
referred,  to  his  dying  day,  to  the  fact  that  Poe 
always  called  upon  him  when  he  visited  Balti 
more,  to  which  city  Mr.  Clarke  removed  from 
Richmond. 

Colonel  John  T.  L.  Preston  was  one  of  Poe's 
schoolmates  at  Clarke's  Academy,  and  fur 
nished  me  with  some  interesting  particulars 
of  the  future  poet's  school-days  in  Richmond: 
"As  a  scholar,  he  was  distinguished  specially 
for  Latin  and  French;  in  poetical  composi 
tion,  he  was  facile  princeps.  He  was  the  best 
boxer,  the  swiftest  runner,  and  the  most  dar 
ing  swimmer  at  Clarke's  school.  Indeed,  his 
swimming  feats  at  the  Great  Falls  of  the  James 
River  were  not  surpassed  by  the  more  cele 
brated  feat  of  Byron  in  swimming  from  Sestos 
to  Abydos. 

Griswold's  most  reckless  and  untruthful 
statement  about  Poe  was  that,  "in  1822  he 
entered  the  University  of  Virginia,  where  he 
led  a  very  dissipated  life,  and  was  known  as 
the  wildest  student  of  his  class;  but  his  un 
usual  opportunities,  and  the  remarkable  ease 


222 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

with  which  he  mastered  the  most  difficult 
studies,  kept  him  all  the  while  in  the  first  rank 
for  scholarship,  and  he  would  have  graduated 
with  the  highest  honors,  had  not  his  gambling, 
intemperance,  and  other  vices  induced  his  ex 
pulsion  from  the  university."  So  much  for 
the  Reverend  Rufus  Wilmot  Griswold!  This 
reverend  defamer  of  the  dead  had  given  Poe's 
birth  as  having  taken  place  in  January,  1811, 
thus  making  him  a  gambler,  drunkard,  and 
debauche  at  the  tender  age  of  eleven  years ! — 
surpassing  in  precocious  vice  the  infamous 
Elagabalus.  The  fact  is  that  Poe  was  born  in 
1809,  the  anmts  mirabilis  which  produced  Mrs. 
Browning,  Tennyson,  Gladstone,  and  other 
illustrious  men.  To  ascertain  the  truth  about 
Poe  at  the  University  of  Virginia,  I  went 
there,  and  interviewed  Mr.  William  Werten- 
baker,  the  librarian,  who  had  been  a  classmate 
of  the  poet.  He  gave  me  the  following  facts : 
"Edgar  Poe  entered  the  University  February 
14,  1826,  and  remained  until  the  I5th  of  De 
cember  of  the  same  year.  He  entered  the 
schools  of  ancient  and  modern  languages,  at 
tending  the  lectures  on  Latin,  Greek,  French, 
Spanish,  and  Italian.  I  was  myself  a  member 
of  the  last  three  classes,  and  can  testify  that 
he  was  regular  in  attendance,  and  a  very  suc 
cessful  student,  having  obtained  distinction  at 

223 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

the  final  examination  in  Latin  and  French. 
This  would  have  entitled  him  to  graduate  in 
those  two  languages.  I  often  saw  Mr.  Poe  in 
the  lecture  room  and  in  the  library,  but  never 
in  the  slightest  degree  under  the  influence  of 
intoxicating  liquors.  Among  the  professors 
he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  sober,  quiet, 
and  orderly  young  man.  To  them,  and  to  the 
officers,  his  deportment  was  universally  that  of 
an  intelligent  and  polished  gentleman.  The 
records  of  the  university,  of  which  I  was  then, 
and  am  still,  the  custodian,  attest  that  at  no 
time  during  the  session  did  he  fall  under  the 
censure  of  the  Faculty.  It  will  gratify  the 
many  admirers  of  Poe  to  know  that  his  works 
are  more  in  demand  and  more  read  than  those 
of  any  other  author,  American  or  foreign,  now 
in  the  library." 

General  Lucius  Bellinger  Northrop,  the  last 
survivor  of  the  classmates  of  Poe  at  West 
Point,  told  me  that  Edgar  Poe,  at  West  Point, 
was  the  wrong  man  in  the  wrong  place — al 
though,  from  an  intellectual  point  of  view,  he 
stood  high  there,  as  elsewhere:  the  records  of 
the  academy  show  that  he  was  third  in  French, 
and  seventeenth  in  mathematics  in  a  class  of 
eighty-seven.  The  severe  studies  and  dull  rou 
tine  duties  were  extremely  distasteful  to  the 
young  poet,  and,  at  the  end  of  six  months,  he 

224 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

applied  to  his  adopted  father,  Mr.  Allan,  for 
permission  to  leave  the  academy,  which  request 
was  promptly  refused.  Poe  then  determined 
to  find  a  way  for  himself,  and  began  a  syste 
matic  neglect  of  his  duties,  and  a  regular  dis 
obedience  of  orders.  He  was  summoned  be 
fore  a  court-martial,  charged  with  the  "gross 
neglect  of  all  his  duties,  and  of  disobedience 
of  orders/'  To  these  charges  he  pleaded 
guilty,  and  was  at  once  sentenced  to  be  dis 
missed  from  the  service  of  the  United  States. 
Poe  was  as  much  out  of  place  at  West  Point 
as  Achilles  was  when  he  was  hid  among  the 
women  in  his  youth.  The  rough  sports  and 
practical  jokes  of  the  cadets  were  utterly  re 
pugnant  to  the  proud,  sensitive,  and  dreamy 
young  poet  who  already  aspired  to  be  the 
American  Byron. 

In  my  search  after  Poe  material,  I  called 
upon  Mr.  John  H.  B.  Latrobe,  who,  as  already 
mentioned,  was  one  of  the  three  gentlemen 
who  awarded  him  the  prize  of  $100  for  the 
best  prose  tale.  He  said  that  Poe  showed  his 
gratitude  by  calling  on  each  of  the  gentlemen 
composing  the  committee,  and  thanking  them 
for  awarding  the  prize  to  him. 

Neilson  Poe  told  me  his  cousin  Edgar  was 
one  of  the  best-hearted  men  that  ever  lived. 
In  society,  his  manner  was  sometimes  cold  and 

225 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

his  bearing  proud  and  haughty,  but  at  home, 
and  among  intimate  friends,  his  kind  and  af 
fectionate  nature  manifested  itself  in  all  its 
sweetness.  The  late  Dr.  Nathan  Covington 
Brooks,  of  Baltimore,  who  was  Poe's  friend 
from  first  to  last,  said  to  me  that  "Edgar  Poe 
impressed  him  as  a  man  inspired  by  noble  and 
exalted  sentiments." 

Count  de  Maistre  declared  that  "history  for 
the  last  three  hundred  years  has  been  a  con 
spiracy  against  the  truth."  With  equal  truth 
we  might  say  that  American  literature  for  the 
last  fifty  years  has  been  a  conspiracy  against 
the  truth  so  far  as  Edgar  A.  Poe  is  concerned. 
The  unimpeachable  witnesses  already  pro 
duced,  and  those  that  follow,  should  convince 
every  unprejudiced  mind  that  America's  most 
illustrious  poet  possessed  the  very  virtues 
which  have  been  persistently  denied  to  him. 

I  wish  to  repeat  here  what  I  have  said  be 
fore,  namely,  that  Burns'  Highland  Mary,  Pe 
trarch's  Laura,  Byron's  Mary  Chaworth, 
Dante's  Beatrice,  Surrey's  Fair  Geraldine, 
Spenser's  Rosalind,  Carew's  Celia,  Wraller's 
Sacharissa,  Klopstock's  Meta,  Swift's  Stella, 
Lemartine's  Elvire,  Campbell's  Caroline, 
Wordsworth's  Lucy,  Allan  Cunningham's 
Bonnie  Jean,  and  other  real  and  imaginary 
loves  of  the  poets,  who  have  been  immortalized 

226 


C|e  poe  Cult 


in  song,  were  not  more  worthy  of  poetical 
adoration  than  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  the 
friend  and  defender  of  Edgar  A.  Poe.  Of 
this  gifted  lady  it  has  been  beautifully  said: 
"She  was  ever  sensitive  to  the  slightest  criti 
cism  of  Poe's  faults,  walking  softly  backward 
and  throwing  over  them  the  shielding  mantle 
of  her  love.  Heedless  of  the  world's  ^cold 
sneer,  she  seized  her  pen  whenever  she  thought 
him  treated  with  injustice,  and  defended  his 
memory  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  woman  and 
a  poet."  Some  of  her  most  beautiful  verses 
were  inspired  by  the  recollections  of  her  poet- 
lover.  Of  these,  one  not  known  to  the  present 
generation  of  readers  has  always  been  a  par 
ticular  favorite  of  mine.  It  is  called: 

THE  PORTRAIT  OF  POE. 

Slowly  I  raised  the  purple  folds  concealing 
That  face,  magnetic  as  the  morning's  beam; 

While  slumbering  memory  thrilled  at  its  revealing, 
Like  Memnon  waking  from  his  marble  dream. 

Again  I  saw  the  brow's  translucent  pallor, 
The  dark  hair  floating  o'er  it  like  a  plume; 

The  sweet  imperious  mouth,  whose  haughty  valor 
Defied  all  portents  of  impending  doom. 

Eyes  planet  calm,  with  something  in  their  vision 
That  seemed  not  of  earth's  mortal  mixture  born ; 

Strange  mythic  faiths  and  fantasies  Elysian, 
And  far,  sweet  dreams  of  "fairy  lands  forlorn." 

227 


Cfee  poe  Cult 


Unfathomable  eyes  that  held  the  sorrow 
Of  vanished  ages  in  their  shadowy  deeps; 

Lit  by  that  prescience  of  a  heavenly  morrow 
Which  in  high  hearts  the  immortal  spirit  keeps. 

Oft  has  that  pale  poetic  presence  haunted 
My  lonely  musing  at  the  twilight  hour, 

Transforming  the  dull  earth-life  it  enchanted, 
With  marvel,  and  with  mystery,  and  with  power. 

Oft  have  I  heard  the  sullen  sea-wind  moaning 
Its  dirge-like  requiems  on  the  lonely  shore, 

Or  listened  to  the  autumn  woods  intoning 
The  wild  sweet  legend  of  the  lost  Lenore. 

Oft  in  some  ashen  evening  of  October, 

Have  stood  entranced  beside  a  mouldering  tomb, 
Hard  by  that  visionary  tarn  of  Auber, 

Where  sleeps  the  shrouded  form  of  Ulalume. 

Oft  in  chill,  starlit  nights  have  heard  the  chiming 
Of  far-off  mellow  bells  on  the  keen  air, 

And  felt  their  molten-golden  music  timing 
To  the  heart's  pulses  answering  unaware. 

Sweet,  mournful  eyes,  long  closed  upon  earth's  sorrow, 
Sleep  restfully  after  life's  fevered  dream! 

Sleep,  wayward  heart!  till  on  some  cool,  bright  mor 
row, 
Thy  soul,  refreshed,  shall  bathe  in  morning's  beam. 

Though  cloud  and  shadow  rest  upon  thy  story, 
And  rude  hands  lift  the  drapery  of  thy  pall, 

Time,  as  a  birthright,  shall  restore  thy  glory, 
And  Heaven  rekindle  all  the  stars  that  fall. 

228 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

The  prophecy  contained  in  the  last  verse  of 
Mrs.  Whitman's  poem  has  been  gloriously  ful 
filled.  Time  has  not  only  "restored"  his 
"glory,"  but  placed  him  first  among  American 
poets.  The  strange,  imaginary  mythology  used 
so  effectively  by  Poe,  is  very  happily  intro 
duced  by  Mrs.  Whitman  in  the  above  poem. 
She  was  deeply  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  Poe's 
genius,  and  her  pure,  poetic  soul  responded 
with  delicate,  feminine  grace  to  the  inspiration 
of  his  divinely  beautiful  poetry. 

It  was  Mrs.  Whitman,  and  other  refined  and 
cultured  women,  including  Mrs.  Frances  Sar 
gent  Osgood,  Mrs.  Estella  Anna  Lewis,  etc., 
who  first  began  the  Poe  cult,  which  has  since 
spread  over  the  civilized  world.  While  many 
ignorant  or  prejudiced  men  have  attacked  Poe, 
few,  if  any,  self-respecting  women  have  taken 
part  in  his  defamation.  It  was  this  fact  that 
first  convinced  me  that  there  was  good  in  the 
author  of  "The  Raven."  The  defamers  of 
the  poet  have  invented  a  Frankenstein  monster 
— a  being  devoid  of  all  human  affection,  sym 
pathy,  and  feeling — and  labelled  it  Edgar  Al 
lan  Poe. 

The  most  disgraceful  story  invented  by  Gris- 
wold  about  Poe  was  in  regard  to  the  breaking 
off  his  engagement  with  Mrs.  Whitman.  He 
said  that  Poe,  wishing  to  break  the  engage- 

229 


CM  Poe  Cult 


ment,  went  to  her  house  in  a  state  of  intoxica 
tion,  and  behaved  so  outrageously  that  the 
police  had  to  be  called  in  to  expel  the  drunken 
intruder.  This  scandalous  story  was  believed, 
and  did  more  to  injure  Poe's  character  than 
any  of  the  many  lies  that  have  been  invented 
about  him.  Mrs.  Whitman  emphatically  denied 
Griswold's  story:  "No  such  scene  as  that  de 
scribed  by  Dr.  Griswold  ever  transpired  in  my 
presence.  No  one,  certainly  no  woman,  who 
had  the  slightest  acquaintance  with  Edgar  Poe 
could  have  credited  the  story  for  an  instant. 
He  was  essentially,  and  instinctively  a  gentle 
man,  utterly  incapable,  even  in  moments  of  ex 
citement  and  delirium,  of  such  an  outrage  as 
Dr.  Griswold  has  ascribed  to  him. 
During  one  of  his  visits  in  the  autumn  of  1848, 
I  once  saw  him  after  one  of  those  nights  of 
wild  excitement,  before  reason  had  fully  re 
gained  its  throne.  Yet  even  then,  in  those 
frenzied  moments,  when  the  door  of  the  mind's 
'Haunted  Palace'  was  left  all  unguarded,  his 
words  were  the  words  of  a  princely  intellect 
overwrought,  and  of  a  heart  only  too  sensi 
tive  and  too  finely  strung.  I  repeat  that  no 
one  acquainted  writh  Edgar  Poe  could  have 
given  Dr.  Griswold's  anecdote  a  moment's 
credence." 

A  man  is  known  by  his  enemies  as  well  as  by 
230 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

his  friends.  \Vho  were  Poe's  enemies?  It  is 
not  necessary  to  mention  any  others,  as  it 
wTould  only  serve  to  keep  alive  their  ignoble 
names;  they  were  men  whose  malignancy  was 
equalled  by  their  mendacity.  He  has  out 
lived  their  worst  enmity,  and  while  they  have 
disappeared  in  a  sea  of  oblivion,  he  has  landed 
safely  on  the  shore  of  immortality.  While 
Poe's  enemies  have  in  the  end  injured  them 
selves,  his  friends  have  builded  better  than 
they  knew,  and  their  names  shall  live  with  his 
in  American  literature.  Perhaps  the  time 
will  come  when  N.  P.  Willis — the  once  popular 
poet  and  magazinist — shall  be  known  only  as 
Poe's  generous  friend  and  defender,  when  the 
literary  jackals  were  rending  his  defenceless 
remains.  The  name  of  George  R.  Graham 
should  long  since  have  passed  away  but  for  the 
fact  that  Poe  was  the  editor  of  Graham's 
Magazine,  whose  publisher  wrote  a  splendid 
defence  of  the  poet,  in  which  he  denounced 
Griswold's  Memoir  as  "an  immortal  infamy — 
the  fancy  sketch  of  a  perverted,  jaundiced 
vision."  Such  a  "devilish"  piece  of  work 
should  not  have  accompanied  Poe's  writings, 
being,  said  Graham,  "the  death's-head  over 
the  entrance  to  the  garden  of  beauty,  a  horror 
that  clings  to  the  brow  of  the  morning,  whis 
pering  of  murder." 

231 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

When  the  Poe  monument  was  unveiled  in 
Baltimore,  on  the  I7th  of  November,  1875, 
many  of  the  American  poets  were  invited  to 
the  ceremonial,  but,  excepting  Walt  Whitman, 
they  sent  "regrets."  James  Russell  Lowell 
wrote :  "I  need  not  assure  you  that  I  sympa 
thize  very  heartily  with  the  sentiment  which 
led  to  the  erection  of  the  monument."  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  expressed  himself  more  at 
length,  and  more  enthusiastically,  as  follows: 
"No  one,  surely,  needs  a  monument  less  than 
the  poet. 

His  monument  shall  be  his  gentle  verse, 

Which  eyes  not  yet  created  shall  o'er  read. 

And  tongues  to  be  his  being  shall  rehearse, 
When  all  the  breathers  of  this  world  are  dead. 

Yet  we  would  not  leave  him  without  a  stone 
to  mark  the  spot  where  the  hands  'that  waked 
to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre'  were  laid  in  the  dust. 
He  that  can  confer  an  immortality  which  out 
lasts  bronze  and  granite  deserves  this  poor 
tribute,  not  for  his  sake  so  much  as  ours.  The 
hearts  of  all  who  reverence  the  inspiration  of 
genius,  who  can  look  tenderly  upon  the  in 
firmities  too  often  attending  it,  who  can  feel 
for  its  misfortunes,  will  sympathize  with  you 
as  you  gather  around  the  resting  place  of  all 
that  was  mortal  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  and  raise 
the  stone  inscribed  with  one  of  the  few  names 

232 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

which  will  outlive  the  graven  record  meant  to 
perpetuate  its  remembrance."  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman,  Poe's  gifted  and  devoted  .friend, 
whose  beautiful  little  volume,  "Edgar  Poe  and 
his  Critics,"  was  one  of  the  first  as  it  was  the 
best  defence  of  the  poet  from  the  malicious 
aspersions  of  Griswold,  sent  a  very  feeling 
note,  in  which  she  said:  "I  need  not  assure 
you  that  the  generous  efforts  of  the  association 
in  whose  behalf  you  write,  have  called  forth 
my  warmest  sympathy  and  most  grateful  ap 
preciation."  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  wrote: 
"Your  desire  to  honor  the  genius  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe  is  in  the  heart  of  every  man  of  letters, 
though  perhaps  no  American  author  stands 
so  little  in  need  of  a  monument  as  the  author 
of  'The  Raven.'  His  imperishable  fame  is  in 
all  lands."  One  of  the  most  eloquent  tributes 
came  from  S.  D.  Lewis,  the  husband  of  Estelle 
Anna  Lewis,  who  was  one  of  Poe's  most  cher 
ished  friends.  His  interesting  letter  is  too  long 
to  be  quoted  entire,  but  the  following  para 
graph  speaks  for  itself:  "Edgar  Poe  was 
one  of  the  most  affectionate,  kind-hearted  men 
I  ever  knew.  I  never  witnessed  so  much  ten 
der  affection  and  devoted  love  as  existed  in 
that  family  of  three  persons.  I  have  spent 
several  weeks  in  the  closest  intimacy  with  him, 
and  I  never  saw  him  drink  a  drop  of  liquor,  or 

233 


C6e  Poc  Cult 


beer,  in  my  life.  He  was  always  in  my  pres 
ence  the  polished  gentleman,  the  profound 
scholar,  the  true  critic,  the  inspired  oracular 
poet — dreamy  and  spiritual,  lofty,  but  sad." 
Longfellow,  who  was  asked  to  suggest  an  ap 
propriate  inscription  for  the  monument,  wrote 
that  "the  only  lines  of  Mr.  Poe  that  I  now  re 
call  as  in  any  way  appropriate  to  the  purpose 
you  mention  are  from  a  poem  entitled  'For  An 
nie/  They  are, 

The  fever  called  living 
Is  conquered  at  last/  " 

From  across  the  sea  came  tributes  from 
Tennyson,  Swinburne,  Richard  H.  Home,  and 
Mallarme,  the  French  poet.  Tennyson's  note 
was  brief,  saying  simply:  "I  have  long  been 
acquainted  with  Poe's  works,  and  am  an  ad 
mirer  of  them."  A  poet  whose  verses  brought 
five  pounds  a  line,  could  not  afford  to  spend 
many  lines  on  the  subject  of  a  monument  to  a 
brother-poet  although  that  poet  had  been  one 
of  the  first  to  recognize  the  other's  genius,  and 
before  his  own  countrymen  had  begun  to  ap 
preciate  him  had  pronounced  him  "the  noblest 
poet  that  ever  lived."  Swinburne,  full  of  the 
glowing  enthusiasm  of  youth,  paid  a  noble 
tribute  to  Poe:  "The  genius  of  Edgar  Poe  has 
won,  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  such  wide 

234 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

and  warm  recognition  that  the  sympathy  which 
I  cannot  hope  fitly  or  fully  to  express  in  ade 
quate  words,  is  undoubtedly  shared  at  this  mo 
ment  by  hundreds,  not  in  England  only  but 
France  as  well.  .  .  .  It  is  not  for  me  to 
offer  any  tribute  here  to  the  fame  of  your  great 
countryman,  or  dilate,  with  superfluous  and 
intrusive  admiration,  on  the  special  quality  of 
his  strong  and  delicate  genius — so  sure  of  aim, 
and  faultless  of  touch,  in  all  the  finer  and 
better  part  of  the  work  he  has  left  us.  Widely 
as  the  fame  of  Poe  has  already  spread,  and 
deeply  as  it  is  already  rooted  in  Europe,  it  is 
even  now  growing  wider  and  striking  deeper 
as  time  advances,  the  surest  presage  that  time, 
the  eternal  enemy  of  small  and  shallow  repu 
tations,  will  prove,  in  this  case  also,  the  con 
stant  and  trusty  friend  and  keeper  of  a  true 
poet's  full-grown  fame."  Mallarme,  with  the 
grace  of  a  true  Frenchman,  placed  a  poem  on 

THE  TOMB  OF  EDGAR  POE. 
Even  as  eternity  his  soul  reclaimed, 

The  poet's  song  ascended  in  a  strain 
So  pure,  the  astonished  age  that  had  defamed, 

Saw  death  transformed  in  that  divine  refrain.* 

While  writhing  coils  of  hydra-headed  wrong, 

Listening,  and  wondering  at  that  heavenly  song, 

Deemed  they  had  drank  of  some  foul  mixture  brewed 
In  Circe's  maddening  cup,  with  sorcery  imbued. 
^Annabel  Lee. 

235 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

Alas !  if  from  an  alien  to  his  clime, 

No  bas-relief  may  grace  that  front  sublime, 

Stern  block,  in  some  obscure  disaster  hurled 
From  the  rent  heart  of  a  primeval  world, 

Through  storied  centuries  thou  shalt  proudly  stand 

In  the  memorial  city  of  his  land, 
A  silent  monitor,  austere  and  gray, 

To  warn  the  clamorous  brood  of  harpies  from  their 
prey. 

This  poem  was  translated  by  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman  from  the  original  copy  which  the 
French  poet  sent  to  her.  Mrs.  Whitman  was 
good  enough  to  furnish  the  present  writer  with 
a  copy  of  her  translation. 

Of  all  the  tributes  to  Poe,  prose  or  poetry, 
inspired  by  the  unveiling  of  the  monument, 
the  poem  by  William  Winter  was  by  far  the 
most  beautiful. 

AT  POE'S  GRAVE. 

Cold  is  the  paean  honor  sings, 

And  chill  is  glory's  icy  breath, 
And  pale  the  garland  memory  brings 

To  grace  the  iron  doors  of  death. 

Fame's  echoing  thunders,  long  and  loud, 
The  pomp  of  pride  that  decks  the  pall, 

The  plaudits  of  the  vacant  crowd — 
One  word  of  love  is  worth  them  all. 

236 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

With  dews  of  grief  our  eyes  are  dim ; 

Ah,  let  the  tear  of  sorrow  start, 
And  honor,  in  ourselves  and  him, 

The  great  and  tender  human  heart ! 

Through  many  a  night  of  want  and  woe 
His  frenzied  spirit  wandered  wild — 

Till  kind  disaster  laid  him  low, 

And  Heaven  reclaimed  its  wayward  child. 

Through  many  a  year  his  fame  has  grown, — 
Like  midnight,  vast,  like  starlight  sweet, 

Till  now  his  genius  fills  a  throne, 
And  nations  marvel  at  his  feet. 

One  meed  of  justice  long  delayed, 

One  crowning  grace  his  virtues  crave : — 

Ah,  take,  thou  great  and  injured  shade, 
The  love  that  sanctifies  the  grave ! 

God's  mercy  guard  in  peaceful  sleep, 
The  sacred  dust  that  slumbers  here : 

And,  while  around  this  tomb  we  weep, 
God  bless,  for  us,  the  mourner's  tear ! 

And  may  his  spirit  hovering  nigh, 

Pierce  the  dense  cloud  of  darkness  through, 
And  know,  with  fame  that  cannot  die, 

He  has  the  world's  affection,  too ! 


The  greatest  critics  of  England  and  France 
have  pronounced  Poe  the  most  consummate 
literary  artist  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the 
greatest  critic  of  his  age,  and  one  of  the  most 

237 


C !)  £  P  o  0  Cult 

remarkable  geniuses  of  all  time.  Swinburne, 
the  master-spirit  of  the  new  school  of  English 
poetry,  places  Poe  first  among  the  American 
poets.  Tennyson's  admiration  of  the  poet  who 
was  the  first  to  recognize  his  own  youthful 
genius  has  been  already  mentioned.  The  im 
pression  made  upon  Mrs.  Browning  by  "The 
Raven"  is  familiar  to  all  readers. 

The  impetus  given  to  the  fame  of  Poe  by  the 
erection  of  the  monument  to  his  memory  in  his 
own  city  of  Baltimore  attracted  the  attention 
of  an  Englishman  who  was  otherwise  un 
known.  This  obscure  individual  claimed  to 
have  "discovered"  Edgar  A.  Poe,  and  to  have 
introduced  that  poet  to  his  countrymen  and 
ours.  This  claim,  preposterous  as  it  may  seem 
now,  when  the  name  and  fame  of  Poe  has  gone 
abroad  into  all  civilized  lands,  was  not  abso 
lutely  without  foundation  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  ago.  Poe's  fame,  which  rose  high  after 
the  publication  of  "The  Raven"  in  1845,  sank 
low  after  his  wretched  death  in  1849.  When 
he  could  no  longer  wield  his  powerful  pen,  his 
name  and  fame  were  assailed  by  a  crowd  of 
writers  whose  literary  pretensions  he  had  ex 
posed  with  merciless  severity.  It  was  a  case 
of  asses  kicking  at  a  dead  lion.  These  men 
and  their  friends  had  access  to  the  periodicals 
of  the  time,  and  they  painted  Poe  in  such  dark 

238 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

colors  that  his  fame  was  obscured,  and  his 
name  covered  with  obloquy.  Some  of  these 
literary  jackals  are  still  alive,  and  they  have 
lived  to  see  the  fame  of  Poe  cover  the  world, 
having  burst  in  triumphant  splendor  through 
the  dark  clouds  with  which  they  had  hoped  to 
cover  it  forever. 

In  1869,  a  copy  of  Poe's  Poems,  New  York, 
1831,  in  the  original  boards,  was  knocked  down 
at  auction  for  $i.  In  1902,  a  copy  of  the  same 
edition  brought  $360  under  the  hammer.  For 
"The  Raven,"  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
poems  in  all  literature,  Poe  was  paid  $10.  For 
the  original  manuscript  of  the  same  poem  the 
present  fortunate  owner  asks  $10,000.  Such 
is  fame!  I  can  myself  remember  when  the 
poet's  grave  was  unknown — the  place  uncer 
tain — the  very  churchyard  a  matter  of  doubt 
and  dispute. 

Edgar  Poe  fought  a  desperate  battle  against 
a  pitiless  fate,  and  fell  in  the  midst  of  the 
struggle,  wounded,  defeated,  and  destroyed. 
He  never  earned  a  dollar  except  by  his  pen,  and 
he  was  miserably  paid  for  his  elegant  and 
scholarly  work.  As  the  editor  of  the  leading 
American  magazine,  his  salary  was  only  $10 
a  week,  the  pay  of  many  boys  of  seventeen,  as 
shorthand  writers,  at  the  present  day.  His 
life  of  sadness  and  suffering,  of  sorrow  and 

239 


Clje  poe  Cult 


song,  was  brought  to  a  sudden  close,  when  a 
brighter  future  seemed  to  be  opening  for  him 
whom 

"Unmerciful  disaster 
Had  followed  fast,  and  followed  faster, 
Till  his  songs  one  burden  bore 


240 


SARAH  HELEN  WHITMAN. 


oe  Cult 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  IN  SOCIETY. 

Although  more  than  a  dozen  lives  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  have  been  published,  as  well  as  in 
numerable  magazine  and  newspaper  articles, 
very  little  has  been  said  of  one  of  the  most 
charming  and  interesting  phases  of  his  life. 
I  refer  to  the  subject  of  this  article — Poe  in 
society.  Sixty-five  years  ago,  fashionable 
American  society  was  not  frequented  by  poets 
any  more  than  it  is  at  present,  but  Poe  was  a 
welcome  guest  in  the  most  cultured  circles 
which  New  York  could  then  boast.  After  the 
publication  of  "The  Raven,"  in  the  American 
Review,  in  February,  1845,  P°e  became,  not 
only  the  talk  of  the  town,  but  the  talk  of  the 
nation.  His  presence  was  much  sought  in  the 
best  society  of  the  metropolis,  where  he  was 
the  object  of  universal  attention,  as  Lord 
Byron  had  been  in  the  most  exclusive  London 
society  after  the  publication  of  Childe  Harold's 
Pilgrimage. 

It  is  admitted,  even  by  Poe's  worst  enemies, 
that  he  possessed  all  the  qualifications  that 
make  a  man  shine  in  society.  His  manners 

241 


oe  Cult 


\vere  graceful  and  refined,  his  voice  was  low, 
musical,  and  exquisitely  modulated,  his  eyes 
were  large,  dark,  luminous,  and  wonderfully 
expressive,  and  there  was  about  him  that  air 
of  unmistakable  distinction,  which  ordinary 
men  cannot  assume,  and  which  few  men  ever 
have.  Friends  and  foes  agree  as  to  the  singu 
lar  fascination  of  Poe's  conversation.  It  was 
my  privilege  to  receive  many  letters  from  Mrs. 
Sarah  Helen  Whitman  in  the  last  years  of  her 
life.  During  her  brief  engagement  to  the  poet 
she  had  the  best  opportunity  to  form  an  opinion 
of  his  conversational  powers.  She  said  she  had 
heard  Walter  Savage  Landor,  who  was  pro 
nounced  the  best  talker  in  England;  had  lis 
tened  to  George  William  Curtis  talk  of  the 
gardens  of  Damascus  till  the  air  seemed  pur 
pled  and  perfumed  with  its  roses;  had  heard 
the  Autocrat's  trenchant  and  vivid  talk,  had 
heard  the  racy  talk  of  Dr.  O.  A.  Brownson  in 
the  old  days  of  his  freedom  and  power;  had 
listened  to  the  brilliant  and  exhaustless  col 
loquial  resources  of  John  Neal  and  Margaret 
Fuller,  and  the  serene  wisdom  of  Alcott;  but, 
unlike  the  conversational  power  of  any  of  these 
was  the  earnest,  opulent,  unpremeditated 
speech  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe.  The  charm  of  his 
conversation  was  in  its  genuineness — its  won 
derful  directness  and  sincerity.  What  added 

242 


Cfte  J9oe  Cult 


to  the  charm  of  his  presence  in  society  was  his 
simple,  natural,  unconventional  courtesy  and 
the  perfectly  sincere  grace  of  his  manner. 
Mrs.  Whitman  said  that  his  proud  reserve,  his 
profound  melancholy,  and  his  entire  unworldli- 
ness  added  to  the  fascination  of  his  personal 
presence  in  society. 

Poe,  unlike  his  distinguished  contemporary, 
Hawthorne,  really  enjoyed  society,  and  in 
whatever  city  he  lived  he  was  a  favorite  in  the 
most  cultivated  circles.  In  his  boyhood  he  was 
early  introduced  to  the  most  exclusive  society 
of  Virginia's  capital.  When  just  emerging 
from  obscurity  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
John  P.  Kennedy,  the  Baltimore  author,  whose 
novels,  Horseshoe  Robinson,  Swallow  Barn 
and  so  forth,  were  very  popular  in  the  first 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Mr.  Kennedy 
was  a  lawyer  as  well  as  a  writer,  and  was  a 
member  of  Congress  and  Secretary  of  the 
Navy  under  the  administration  of  President 
Fillmore.  His  social  position  was  the  best  in 
Baltimore  at  the  time  when  the  society  of  the 
Monumental  City  was  the  most  exclusive  in 
America.  It  was  at  that  time  N.  P.  Willis  pro 
nounced  Baltimore  "The  Social  Athens  of 
America/'  Mr.  Kennedy  invited  Poe  to  his 
table,  gave  him  a  horse  to  ride,  and  did  every 
thing,  as  the  poet  always  gratefully  remem- 

243 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

bered,  to  raise  him  from  the  depths  of  despair. 
There  are  few  persons  now  living  who  knew 
Poe,  but  when  I  first  became  interested  in  the 
poet,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  several 
who  were  acquainted  with  him  at  the  most  in 
teresting  period  of  his  life.  The  first  of  these 
was  his  aunt  and  mother-in-law — "more  than 
mother"  he  said  she  was  to  him — Mrs.  Maria 
Clemm.  I  visited  her  at  the  Church  Home  in 
Baltimore,  where  she  spent  the  last  years  of 
her  life,  and  where  she  died  on  February  16, 
1871,  it  being  the  same  building  where  Poe 
died  on  October  7,  1849.  Mrs.  Clemm  never 
tired  of  talking  about  her  "darling  Eddie,"  as 
she  always  called  the  poet.  She  was  fond  of 
speaking  of  his  beautiful  manners,  of  his  ex 
quisite  taste  in  dress,  and  above  all  things,  she 
loved  to  tell  of  the  many  ladies  who  admired 
him.  Their  friendship  was  the  chief  comfort 
and  solace  of  a  life  of  sorrow,  suffering  and 
song.  Poe  was  a  worshipper  of  beauty,  and 
of  all  beauty,  he  thought  a  beautiful  woman 
was  the  supremest.  His  sentimental  feeling 
for  woman  was  the  delicate,  poetical  Greek 
worship  of  an  ideal  beauty,  so  exquisitely  per 
sonified  by  Nausica  in  the  Odyssey.  Proud, 
solitary,  and  ambitious,  he  found  in  his  female 
friends  the  sympathy  which  his  mind  and  heart 
longed  for. 

244 


C  f)  e  p  a  e  Cult 


In  the  winter  of  1845-46,  Poe  was  the  most 
distinguished  visitor  in  the  circles  that  gath 
ered  at  the  houses  of  the  Honorable  John  R. 
Bartlett,  Dr.  Dewey,  Miss  Anne  C.  Lynch, 
afterward  Mrs.  Botta,  and  others  who  held 
weekly  receptions  of  the  best  intellectual  so 
ciety  of  New  York.  Mrs.  Whitman,  in  speak 
ing  of  Poe's  social  prestige,  relates  an  anecdote 
showing  his  habitual  courtesy  and  good  nature, 
which  was  noticeable  to  all  who  best  knew  him 
in  domestic  and  social  life.  The  incident  oc 
curred  at  one  of  the  soirees  above  mentioned. 
A  lady  who  prided  herself  on  her  knowledge  of 
languages,  ancient  and  modern,  wished  to  ex 
pose  the  ignorance  of  a  pretender  to  classical 
knowledge,  and  proposed  inviting  him  to  trans 
late  a  difficult  passage  in  a  Greek  author,  of 
which  language  he  was  profoundly  ignorant, 
although  in  his  writings  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
sprinkling  Greek  quotations  very  profusely. 
Poe  was  present  upon  the  occasion,  and  when 
he  heard  of  the  lady's  malicious  intention,  he 
remonstrated  with  her  so  earnestly  that  she 
was  induced  to  forego  the  embarrassing  test. 

Another  evening  Poe  engaged  in  an  intel 
lectual  controversy  with  the  aggressive  and 
self-opinionated  Margaret  Fuller.  This  lady, 
in  her  usual  "lofty  and  autocratic  style,"  was 
annihilating  a  young  author  with  merciless 

245 


oe  Cult 


scorn.  Poe  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  van 
quished  author,  and  in  a  few  sharp,  trenchant 
remarks  destroyed  all  the  effect  of  the  learned 
lady's  eloquence,  and  completely  discomfited 
her.  This  was  accomplished  by  Poe  in  the 
most  polished  manner.  Some  one  present 
whispered,  "The  Raven  has  perched  upon  the 
casque  of  Pallas,  and  pulled  all  of  her  feathers 
out  of  her  cap." 

Sometimes,  but  not  often,  his  child-wife, 
Virginia,  accompanied  her  husband  to  these 
weekly  assemblages.  She  took  little  or  no  part 
in  the  evening's  conversation,  but  her  pride  in 
the  poet's  brilliant  social  success  illuminated 
her  sweet,  girlish  face.  Mrs.  Clemm  told  me 
that  Virginia,  Eddie,  and  herself  formed  an 
ideal  family,  and  that  the  poet  and  his  young 
wife  were  perfectly  devoted  to  each  other.  In 
spite  of  this,  it  has  been  cruelly  and  recklessly 
asserted  that  Poe  neglected  his  lovely  \vife  and 
caused  her  early  death.  A  shallow  English 
writer,  Gilfillan,  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
Poe  caused  the  death  of  his  wife  that  he  might 
have  a  fitting  theme  for  "The  Raven."  Mrs. 
Whitman,  commenting  upon  this  horrible  and 
wicked  assertion,  sarcastically  says  that  a 
serious  objection  to  this  ingenious  theory  may 
perhaps  be  found  in  the  "refractory  fact"  that 
the  poem  was  published  more  than  a  year  be- 

246 


C6e  poe  Cult 


fore  the  event  which  it  is  assumed  it  was  in 
tended  to  commemorate. 

Another  of  Poe's  friends,  Mrs.  E.  Oakes- 
Smith,  who  met  him  during  this  time  of  his 
greatest  social  success,  at  the  houses  mentioned 
above,  says  his  manners  at  these  reunions  were 
pleasing  and  refined,  and  his  style  and  scope 
of  conversation  that  of  a  gentleman  and 
scholar;  that  he  delighted  in  the  society  of 
superior  women,  and  had  an  exquisite  percep 
tion  of  all  the  graces  of  manner  and  shades  of 
expression;  and  that  he  was  an  admiring  lis 
tener  and  an  unobtrusive  observer. 

So  much  abuse  has  been  heaped  on  Poe's 
head  by  ignorant  or  malicious  persons  that  it 
is  not  only  a  pleasure  but  a  duty  to  let  the 
world  know  how  he  was  regarded  by  those  who 
had  the  best  opportunity  of  seeing  him.  There 
was  only  one  woman  in  all  his  social  experience 
who  disliked  him,  and  she  disliked  him  because 
he,  very  naturally,  resented  her  attempt  to 
destroy  his  friendship  with  Mrs.  Frances  Sar 
gent  Osgood,  who  was  one  of  the  loveliest  and 
most  accomplished  women  of  her  time,  and  the 
object  of  the  poet's  enthusiastic  admiration. 
In  her  society  he  found  a  never-failing  nepen 
the  for  his  sorrows  and  troubles.  The  poet  and 
poetess  were  congenial  spirits,  and  celebrated 

247 


C  i)  e  p  a  e  Cult 


their  devoted  friendship  in  lines  worthy  of  the 
most  exalted  affection. 

Mrs.  Osgood  addressed  the  following  lines 
to  Poe: 

I  cannot  tell  the  world  how  thrills  my  heart 
To  every  touch  that  flies  thy  lyre  along; 

How  the  wild  Nature  and  the  wondrous  Art 
Blend  into  Beauty  in  thy  passionate  song — 

But  this  /  know — in  thine  enchanted  slumbers, 
Heaven's  poet,  Israfel — with  minstrel  fire — 
Taught  the  music  of  his  own  sweet  numbers, 
And  tuned — to  chord  with  his — thy  glorious  lyre ! 

These  verses  inspired  the  following  delicate 
response : 

To  F s  S.  O D. 

Thou  wouldst  be  loved  ? — then  let  thy  heart 

From  its  present  pathway  part  not, 
Bring  everything  which  now  thou  art, 
Be  nothing  which  thou  art  not. 

So  with  the  world  thy  gentle  ways, 
Thy  grace — thy  more  than  beauty — 

Shall  be  an  endless  theme  of  praise, 
And  love — a  simple  duty. 

Poe  possessed  that  best  of  all  social  qualities 
— he  was  a  good  listener.  When  he  took  his 
pen  in  hand  he  was  sometimes  fierce  and  ag 
gressive,  but  in  society  he  was  conspicuous  for 
his  quiet  dignity,  his  unobtrusive  manner,  his 

248 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

elegant  reserve.  He  was  more  impressive  and 
infinitely  more  agreeable  than  the  tiresome, 
loquacious,  so-called  good  talkers  who  often 
eclipse  the  gaiety  of  drawing  rooms,  and  make 
listeners  long  for  a  "few  brilliant  flashes  of 
silence." 

Poe  was  extremely  fortunate  in  the  "lone 
some  latter  years"  which  followed  the  death  of 
his  wife  to  be  admitted  to  the  intimate  so 
ciety  of  Mrs.  Annie  L.  Richmond,  of  Lowell, 
Massachusetts.  It  was  this  lady  to  whom  the 
poet  addressed  his  well-known  poem,  "For  An 
nie,"  beginning: 

Thank  Heaven !  the  crisis, 

The  danger,  is  past, 
And  the  lingering  illness 

Is  over  at  last, 
And  the  fever  called  "Living" 

Is  conquered  at  last. 

At  Mrs.  Richmond's  house  he  met  the  best 
society  of  Lowell,  and  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Hey- 
wood,  who  was  a  member  of  the  family,  spoke 
with  great  enthusiasm  of  the  poet's  demeanor 
and  the  grace  of  his  conversation.  "I  have 
never  seen  it  equalled,"  he  said.  A  lady  who 
was  present  at  Mrs.  Richmond's  one  evening 
when  Poe  was  there  differed  from  the  poet 
upon  some  subject  that  was  under  discussion 

249 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


and  expressed  her  opinions  very  strongly.  He 
listened  to  her  objection  with  the  most  perfect 
deference,  and  replied  to  her  with  the  utmost 
politeness.  His  conversational  tone  was  low 
but  distinct;  he  never  showed  the  least  excite 
ment  even  when  discussing  the  most  animated 
subject. 

It  is  the  consensus  of  all  who  met  Poe  in  so 
ciety  that  while  he  was  gentle  and  refined  and 
seldom  attacked  any  person's  opinion,  and 
maintained  his  own  with  modest  confidence,  he 
took  every  opportunity  to  defend  any  person 
who  was  attacked,  especially  when  such  person 
was  dead  or  absent,  protecting  him  or  her  with 
the  tender  grace  of  charity — that  charity  which 
has  so  seldom  been  exercised  in  his  behalf, 
either  during  life  or  since  his  early  death. 

On  rare  occasions  Poe  was  persuaded  to 
recite  "The  Raven"  when  attending  social 
gatherings  in  New  York,  especially  when  his 
wife  added  her  request  to  the  entreaties  of  his 
host  or  hostess.  It  was  the  opinion  of  those 
who  heard  him  that  it  was  a  thrilling,  an  en 
thralling,  an  overpowering  exhibition  of  fer 
vid  frenzy  and  mental  exaltation.  Once  heard 
it  was  never  forgotten. 

In  the  last  months  of  the  last  year  of  Poe's 
unhappy  life,  a  gleam  of  light  like  that  which 
cheered  Sinbad  in  the  Cave  of  Death,  bright- 

250 


Cfte  poe  Cult 

ened  the  poet's  gloomy  existence.  This  was 
his  return  to  his  early  home  in  Richmond,  re 
viving  dead  memories,  and  resuming  his  place 
in  that  fine  old  Virginia  society  which  threw 
open  its  hospitable  doors  to  welcome  back  its 
most  gifted  son.  But  it  was  the  last  flicker  of 
life's  candle,  soon  to  be  extinguished  forever 
by  the  mournful  tragedy  of  his  mysterious 
death  in  Baltimore  on  that  fatal  autumn  morn 
ing  of  October  7,  1849. 


251 


C6e  Poe  Cult 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  EDGAR  A.  POE. 
By  the  Witnesses  of  his  Life. 

Edgar  Poe  lived  and  died  a  mystery  to  the 
world,  and,  although  more  than  a  half  century 
has  elapsed  since  his  death,  to  many  persons 
he  remains  a  mystery  still. 

The  intention  of  the  present  article  is  to 
show  Poe  in  a  brighter  and  lovelier  light — to 
see  him  as  he  appeared  to  the  witnesses  of  his 
life.  During  the  many  years  that  I  have  been 
devoted  to  the  investigation  of  Poe's  life,  I 
have  made  the  acquaintance  of  several  persons 
who  were  more  or  less  associated  with  him 
from  his  childhood  until  his  death.  They  were 
men  and  women  who  spoke  of  their  own 
knowledge  of  the  poet,  and  they  were,  there 
fore,  the  most  competent  witnesses  to  testify 
to  the  truth  concerning  him. 

I  was  personally  acquainted  with  a  gentle 
man  who  knew  little  Edgar  when  a  boy — knew 
him  intimately — who  saw  him  every  day.  This 
was  Professor  Joseph  H.  Clarke,  of  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  who  was  the  Principal  of  an 
English  and  classical  school  in  Richmond  from 
1818  to  1823.  [His  recollections  of  Poe  will 
be  found  elsewhere  in  this  book.] 

252 


C&e  poe  Cult 


Among  Poe's  fellow  cadets  at  West  Point 
was  Lucius  Bellinger  Northrop,  of  South 
Carolina,  afterward  the  confidential  friend  of 
Jefferson  Davis  and  Commissary  General  of 
the  Confederate  Army,  and  one  of  the  last 
survivors  of  Poe's  classmates  at  West  Point. 
Young  Northrop  was  two  years  Poe's  junior, 
but,  even  at  that  early  day,  he  manifested  that 
firm  and  determined  character  which  distin 
guished  him  through  life,  and  made  him  fol 
low  what  he  believed  to  be  the  right,  although 
on  one  memorable  instance  it  caused  a  tem 
porary  break  in  his  lifelong  friendship  with 
Jefferson  Davis. 

I  met  General  Northrop  long  after  he  had 
retired  from  public  life,  and  was  spending  his 
last  years  on  his  farm  amid  the  grand  old  Blue 
Ridge  Mountains,  near  Charlottesville,  Va.  I 
was  a  guest  at  his  house,  and  ascertaining  that 
he  had  been  at  West  Point  with  Poe,  I  lost  no 
time  in  interviewing  him  on  the  subject.  His 
recollection  was  that  Poe  was  entirely  out  of 
place  at  West  Point — that  the  routine  of  mili 
tary  duties  was  utterly  repugnant  to  his  tastes : 
the  severe  studies,  the  strict  discipline,  the  roll- 
call,  the  morning  drill,  the  evening  parade,  the 
guard  duty  were  each  and  all  distasteful  to  the 
poetical  young  dreamer.  He  was  shy,  proud, 
sensitive,  and  unsociable  with  the  other  cadets. 

253 


C6e  poe  Cult 


He  spent  more  time  in  reading  than  in  study. 
This  literary  taste  kept  him  away  from  his  un 
congenial  classmates:  he  was  absorbed  in  his 
thoughts,  his  poetical  dreams,  his  golden  as 
pirations,  for  he  was  at  that  time  preparing  a 
third  edition  of  his  poems  for  the  press,  the 
second  having  been  published  in  Baltimore,  in 
1829.  The  rough  sports  of  the  West  Point 
boys — their  youthful  pranks,  their  practical 
jokes,  their  childish  follies — possessed  no  at 
tractions  to  the  young  poet  who  aspired  to  be 
the  American  Byron,  or  Shelley. 

During  his  short  stay  at  West  Point,  Poe 
made  a  high  reputation  for  poetical  genius,  and 
when  it  was  announced  that  he  intended  to 
publish  his  poems,  great  expectations  were 
formed  of  the  book.  Gen.  Northrop  informed 
me  that  the  cadets  eagerly  subscribed  for  the 
volume.  Although  he  made  few  friends  at 
West  Point,  he  made  no  enemies  there ;  or  else 
where,  except  among  the  small  poets  and  prose 
writers  whose  shortcomings  were  shown  up  in 
his  critical  capacity. 

After  leaving  West  Point,  as  already  men 
tioned,  Poe  found  a  home  in  the  family  of  his 
aunt,  Mrs.  Maria  Clemm,  in  Baltimore.  She 
was  his  nearest  living  relative,  and  the  in 
timacy  thus  begun  was  the  most  fortunate 
event  in  the  poet's  unhappy  life.  From  that 

254 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 

time,  however  dark  his  prospects,  however  suf 
fering  his  condition,  however  sad  his  thoughts, 
this  devoted  woman,  this  "more  than  Mother,'"' 
as  he  called  her,  was  always  by  his  side  as 
friend  and  comforter.  I  knew  Mrs.  Clemm  in 
her  last  years,  when  she  was  an  inmate  of  the 
Church  Home,  in  Baltimore.  She  was  then 
four  score  years  old.  In  my  youthful  admira 
tion  of  Poe,  I  sought  her  out,  made  her  ac 
quaintance,  got  her  to  talk  about  Poe.  All  the 
world  knows  that  he  married  her  daughter, 
Virginia  Clemm.  But  all  the  world  does  not  \J 
know  of  his  constant  devotion  to  his  child-  ' 
wife  (she  was  only  fourteen  years  old  at  the 
time  of  her  marriage)  in  sickness  and  in 
health.  Mrs.  Clemm  never  tired  of  speaking 
about  "Eddie's"  unceasing  love  of  her  daugh 
ter,  and  of  his  filial  affection  for  herself. 

Mrs.  Clemm  said  Poe  was  most  industrious 
with  his  pen,  and  would  sometimes  sit  down  at 
his  desk  at  nine  in  the  morning,  and  write  until 
six  in  the  evening,  finishing  five  pages  of 
Graham's  Magazine  during  that  time. 

In  my  enthusiasm  I  persuaded  Mrs.  Clemm 
to  visit  a  photographer's  and  have  her  picture 
taken.  When  it  was  finished,  she  looked  at  it 
for  some  time,  and  asked  "Do  I  look  as  old  and 
ugly  as  that?"  (forgetting  that  forty  years  had 
passed  since  her  last  picture  was  painted).  It 

255 


Cult 


is  a  copy  of  that  photograph  which  is  used  in 
this  article.  I  continued  my  visits  to  her  as 
long  as  she  lived,  and  when  she  died,  I  saw 
her  laid  by  the  side  of  her  "Darling  Eddie"  in 
Westminster  Churchyard,  Baltimore. 

It  was  while  Poe  was  living  in  Baltimore, 
with  his  aunt,  that  he  made  his  first  success  in 
literature,  by  gaining  the  $100  prize,  offered 
by  the  Saturday  Visitor  for  the  best  tale.  The 
limits  of  this  article  will  not  permit  me  to  give 
the  particulars  of  this  contest,  especially  as  it 
has  been  told  more  than  once ;  but  the  late  John 
H.  B.  Latrobe,  one  of  the  committee  who  be 
stowed  the  prize,  was  kind  enough  to  furnish 
me  the  following  account  of  the  affair,  a  few 
years  before  his  death:  "John  P.  Kennedy, 
Dr.  James  Miller  and  I  were  selected  by  the 
publishers  of  the  Saturday  Visitor  to  decide 
the  best  story  and  poem  for  the  two  prizes,  one 
of  $100  and  the  other  of  $50.  We  met,  one 
evening,  in  my  back  parlor,  on  Mulberry 
Street,  Baltimore.  The  Mss.  were  piled  on  a 
table,  with  a  waste  basket  conveniently  at 
hand.  I  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  Mr. 
Kennedy  on  one  side,  and  Dr.  Miller  on  the 
other,  with  a  decanter  of  good  old  sherry  and 
a  box  of  fine  havanas  between  them.  Most  of 
the  Mss.  were  utter  rubbish,  and  I,  who  acted 
as  reader,  was  getting  tired  of  reading,  and 

256 


Clje  Poe  Cult 


the  other  gentlemen  of  listening  to,  the  silly 
love  stories,  and  sillier  verses,  when  at  the  very 
bottom  of  the  pile  was  found  a  small  book, 
inscribed  "A  Manuscript  Found  in  a  Bottle, 
and  other  Tales  of  the  Folio  Club,"  with  sev 
eral  poems,  including  "The  Coliseum."  We 
decided  that  Edgar  A.  Poe,  whose  unknown 
name  was  found  in  the  envelope  that  accom 
panied  his  Mss.,  was  entitled  to  both  prizes, 
but  the  publishers  of  the  Visitor  did  not  wish 
the  same  person  to  receive  both,  and  Poe  was 
given  $100  for  the  best  story,  and  $50  was 
awarded  to  a  local  versifier." 

After  the  prize  was  awarded,  Poe  called 
upon  each  of  the  gentlemen  who  composed  the 
committee  in  order  to  thank  them.  Mr.  Lat- 
robe,  who  had  graduated  at  West  Point,  first 
in  his  class,  and  afterward  studied  law,  was 
impressed  by  Poe's  erect,  soldier-like  bearing, 
as  well  as  by  the  grace  and  elegance  of  his 
manners  and  the  remarkable  originality  of  his 
conversation.  Mr.  Latrobe  said  it  was  abso 
lutely  untrue,  as  stated  by  Poe's  early  biog 
raphers,  that  the  prize  was  awarded  to  him  on 
account  of  his  beautiful  handwriting;  the  de 
cision  of  the  committee  was  made  because  of 
the  "unquestionable  genius  and  great  origi 
nality  of  the  writer." 

On  the  1 7th  of  March,  1894,  I  called  to  see 

257 


Cult 


Mr.  Gabriel  Harrison,  at  his  pretty,  artistic 
home  on  Madison  Street,  in  Brooklyn.  The 
object  of  my  visit  was  to  learn  some  particulars 
of  his  acquaintance  with  Poe.  He  said  his 
personal  knowledge  of  the  poet  was  in  1846-7 
when  his  fame  had  reached  its  zenith  by  the 
publication  of  the  "Raven."  "He  read  the 
poem  to  me  from  a  newspaper,"  said  Mr.  Har 
rison,  "and,  of  course,  I  was  struck  with  its 
many  beauties,  and  was  delighted  to  know  the 
man  who  had  the  genius  to  compose  so  won 
derful  a  piece  of  alliteration  and  harmony. 
When  I  praised  those  special  and  distinctive 
qualities  in  the  poem,  he  said,  'alliteration  and 
euphony  of  words  are  the  genius  of  poetry/ 
The  next  time  we  met,  I  said,  Toe,  I  am  going 
to  recite  a  fine  poem  to  you;  sit  down  and  lis 
ten.'  I  then  recited  "The  Raven."  While  I 
was  repeating  it,  his  eyes  were  suffused  with 
tears,  and  when  I  got  through,  he  cried,  'My 
God,  Harrison,  did  I  write  that?'  He  then 
took  me  by  the  hand,  and  said,  'by  the  power 
of  your  elocution,  you  have  made  me  see  beau 
ties  in  my  poem  that  I  did  not  think  it  pos 
sessed/  From  that  time  he  and  I  became  con 
stant  companions.  Many  an  afternoon  did  we 
walk  to  a  favorite  spot  on  the  banks  of  the 
East  River,  where  I  read  to  him  passages  from 
Shelley  and  Byron,  and  heard  him  express  his 

258 


Cf)e  Poe  Cult 


passionate  admiration  of  the  former  poet." 
Mr.  Harrison  was  a  witness  of  Poe's  devotion 
to  his  delicate  young  wife.  "They  were  in 
perfect  accord:  the  one  was  the  Harp,  the 
other  the  Strings  upon  it,  and  what  the  one 
uttered  the  other  vibrated  back  the  concord 
ance.  They  were,  indeed,  'two  souls  with  but 
a  single  thought,  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one/ 
Poe  had  a  melancholy  and  worried  expression 
of  countenance.  His  voice  was  a  low  mezzo 
tone.  His  articulation  was  fine,  and  from  his 
lips  and  tongue  fell  his  words  like  the  tones 
of  a  well-tuned  lute.  His  soul  was  all  in  har 
mony  with  perfect  sounds,  and  he  was  always 
deeply  affected  by  anything  tender  and  pa 
thetic.  Often  when  he  was  reading  to  me,  and 
came  to  a  pathetic  passage,  the  tears  would 
blur  his  eyes,  and  he  was  obliged  to  hand  me 
the  poem  to  finish.  He  was  always  refined. 
Gentleman  was  written  all  over  him.  His 
thoughts  were  elevated;  his  language  inspir 
ing;  his  ambition  high  and  noble.  He  was  a 
remarkable  man,  and  when  once  acquainted 
with  him,  he  could  not  be  forgotten." 

The  fame  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  has  passed  into 
many  lands.  His  genius  is  one  of  the  greatest 
intellectual  gifts  that  America  has  bestowed 
upon  the  world.  While  we  are  justly  proud 
of  him  as  a  poet,  we  have  no  cause  to  be 

259 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


ashamed  of  him  as  a  man,  for  the  true  wit 
nesses  of  his  life  prove  beyond  question  that 
he  possessed  the  very  qualities  that  his  enemies 
have  willfully  and  persistently  denied  him. 
From  their  unbiased  testimony,  I  have  shown 
that  he  was  gentle,  affectionate,  grateful,  and 
"incapable  of  dishonor." 


260 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 


POE  AS  SEEN  BY  STODDARD,  STED- 
MAN,  AND  HARRISON. 

Of  the  many  biographies  of  Edgar  A.  Poe, 
I  cannot  say  that  Richard  Henry  Stoddard's 
is  the  best.  In  his  preface,  he  makes  the  bold 
claim  that  his  "is  the  only  life  of  Poe  written 
with  no  intention  but  that  of  telling  the  truth 
.  .  .  the  only  life  in  which  the  poet's  career 
from  beginning  to  end  is  clearly  and  intelli 
gently  traced "  that  "it  deals  with  facts, 

and  not  with  fancies/'  etc.  Yet  he  accepts 
with  childish  confidence,  and  repeats  the  sub 
stance  of  Dr.  Moran's  so-called  account  of 
Poe's  last  hours,  which  was  contradicted  by 
the  relative  of  Poe  who  was  present  at  the 
deathbed.  It  is  now  known  that  Dr.  Moran's 
statement  was  purely  imaginary.  He  says 
that  "Poe  was  taken  to  the  hospital  on  the 
morning  of  the  7th  of  October,  and  died  about 
midnight  of  the  same  day,"  that  he  "was  found 
lying  on  a  bench  on  Pratt  Street  Wharf." 
The  facts  are  that  Poe  was  taken  to  the  hos 
pital  on  the  3d  of  October,  1849,  where  he 
lingered  in  an  unconscious  state  until  the  7th, 

261 


oe  Cult 


when  he  died — that  he  was.  found  at  a  polling 
place  on  Lombard  Street.  Dr.  Moran  gives 
a  detailed  account  of  'Toe's  last  words."  Here 
is  a  specimen:  "The  arched  heavens  encom 
pass  me,  and  God  has  his  decrees  legibly  writ 
ten  upon  the  frontlets  of  every  human  being, 
and  demons  incarnate;  their  goal  will  be  the 
seething  waves  of  black  despair.  Where  is  the 
buoy,  life-boat,  ship  of  fire,  sea  of  brass,  shore 
no  more."  Dr.  Moran  was  the  resident  physi 
cian  of  the  hospital,  but  Poe  died  in  the  arms 
of  Dr.  William  M.  Cullan,  the  physician  whose 
duty  it  was  to  attend  to  the  patients;  and  we 
have  his  authority  for  saying  that  the  wild 
and  incoherent  words  attributed  to  the  poet 
were  never  uttered  by  him  on  his  deathbed.  It 
is  only  justice  to  add  that  Mr.  Stoddard  re 
jects  that  part  of  Dr.  Moran's  "recollection." 
Mr.  Stoddard  scrupulously  avoids  mention 
ing  by  name  any  of  the  eight  biographers  of 
Poe;  but  he  has  not  scrupled  to  appropriate 
their  material  and  incorporate  it  in  his  memoir, 
without  any  credit  whatever.  The  present 
writer  has,  perhaps,  suffered  more  than  any 
other  in  this  respect,  especially  in  the  early  por 
tion  of  the  memoir.  Living  in  Baltimore, 
among  the  friends  and  relatives  of  Poe,  I  have 
been  enabled  to  gather  information  not  access 
ible  to  persons  at  a  distance.  That  portion 

262 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


of  Mr.  Stoddard's  work  relating  to  the  poet's 
grandfather  and  to  his  father's  early  infatua 
tion  for  the  stage,  as  well  as  the  whole  account 
of  Poe's  schooldays  in  Richmond,  is  taken 
from  my  memoir  which  was  published  in  1876. 
The  latter  was  given  to  me  by  Prof.  Joseph  H. 
Clarke,  Poe's  teacher,  who  was  then  living  in 
Baltimore  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety  years. 

Mr.  Stoddard  has  surpassed  the  other  biog 
raphers  of  Poe  in  one  particular  at  least — he 
has  invented  a  birthday  for  him.  He  says: 
"As  it  might  have  been  on  the  igth  of  Febru 
ary,  I  have  fixed  upon  that  day  for  his  birth 
day."  Certainly  an  original  reason  for  de 
ciding  a  man's  birthday — because  "it  might 
have  been."  It  might  have  been  also  on  the 
1 9th  of  May  or  June.  The  doctors  will  have 
to  decide  whether  Mrs.  Poe  could  have  played 
on  the  stage  on  the  24th  of  February  after  the 
birth  of  her  son  on  the  igth.  Mrs.  Clemm 
told  me  that  he  was  born  on  the  iQth  of  Jan 
uary,  1809. 

Viewing  Mr.  Stoddard's  biographic  sketch 
in  the  most  favorable  light,  we  cannot  dis 
cover  that  he  has  added  anything  to  our  knowl 
edge  of  Poe  which  had  not  been  made  known 
by  previous  writers. 

We  deem  it  only  justice  to  say  that  the  pres 
ent  reaction  in  favor  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  is 

263 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 

greatly  due  to  the  intelligent  appreciation  of 
Mr.  Widdleton,  the  American  publisher  of  his 
works.  He  generously  aided  and  encouraged 
every  attempt  to  vindicate  the  poet's  memory. 
Mr.  Stedman  has  written  the  most  careful 
analysis  of  Poe's  genius  that  has  yet  been 
given  to  the  world.  The  students  and  scholars 
of  this  and  other  countries  will  be  glad  that 
he  has  taken  his  admirable  essay  from  the 
soon  forgotten  pages  of  a  magazine,  and  pre 
served  it  in  the  exquisitely  dainty  little  volume 
before  us.  He  has  evidently  studied  Poe's 
works  with  conscientious  diligence;  and, 
though  we  do  not  wholly  agree  with  his  esti 
mate  of  the  poet,  we  frankly  admit  that  nine- 
tenths  of  his  readers  will.  He  manifests  a 
genuine  feeling  for  the  "sensitive  feminine 
spirit,"  whose  life  was  darkened  by  sorrow  and 
suffering.  He  says  that  Poe  was  "an  apostle 
of  the  art  that  refuses  to  take  its  color  from  a 
given  time  or  country,  and  of  the  revolt 
against  commonplace,  and  his  inventions  par 
took  of  the  romantic  and  the  wonderful.  He 
added  to  the  Greek  perception  of  form  the 
Oriental  passion  for  decoration.  All  the  ma 
terial  of  the  wizard's  craft  were  at  his  com 
mand.  He  was  not  a  pupil  of  Beckford,  God 
win,  Maturin,  Hoffmann,  or  Fouque;  and  yet 
if  these  writers  were  to  be  grouped  we  should 

264 


Ciie  Poe  Cult 

think  also  of  Poe,  and  give  him  no  second  place 
among  them." 

Mr.  Stedman  pronounces  the  "Literati"  a 
prose  Dunciad;  but  he  does  not  do  full  justice 
to  Poe's  powerful  analytical  criticism  which 
drove  the  dunces  from  our  literary  temple. 
He  also  depreciates  Poe's  scholarship:  "He 
easily  threw  a  glamour  of  erudition  about  his 
work  by  the  use  of  phrases  from  old  authors 
he  had  read.  It  was  his  knack  to  cull  sentences 
which,  taken  by  themselves,  produce  a  weird 
or  impressive  effect,  and  to  reframe  them  skill 
fully.  This  plan  was  clever,  but  it  partook  of 
trickery,  even  in  its  art."  Poe  wras  a  consum 
mate  literary  artist,  whose  writings  are  more 
carefully  finished  than  any  American  writer 
of  his  time.  As  Kennedy  said  of  him:  "His 
taste  was  replete  with  classical  flavor,  and  he 
wrote  in  the  spirit  of  an  old  Greek  Philoso 
pher."  In  conclusion  let  us  say,  with  Mr.  Sted 
man,  that,  "instead  of  recounting  Poe's  in 
firmities,  and  deriding  them,  we  should  hedge 
him  round  with  our  protection.  We  can  find 
one  man  of  sense  among  a  thousand,  but  how 
rarely  a  poet  with  such  a  gift!" 

Professor  James  A.  Harrison,  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Virginia,  has  edited  the  most  ambi 
tious,  the  most  voluminous,  the  most  vexatious 
edition  of  Poe's  works  that  has  been  vouch- 

265 


Poe  Cult 


safed  to  an  eagerly  expectant  world.  The  first 
of  the  seventeen  volumes  of  this  edition  con 
tains  a  Biography  by  Professor  Harrison.  I 
have  read  this  Life  of  Poe  with  the  greatest 
care,  page  by  page,  several  times,  and  I  have 
found  it  a  careless,  rambling,  disconnected,  un 
scientific  piece  of  work.  It  displays  extraor 
dinary  industry  in  collecting  the  material, 
but  it  is  put  together  with  no  literary  skill: 
like  the  would-be  magician  in  the  Eastern  tale, 
the  writer  wants  the  magic  touch.  The  most 
interesting  portions  of  the  biography  are  in 
quotation  marks.  Professor  Harrison  writes 
like  an  ambitious  schoolboy,  using  all  the  big 
gest  words  in  his  vocabulary.  Here  are  sev 
eral  specimens: 

"In  The  Philosophy  of  Composition/  he  (Poe)  lifts 
the  lid  from  the  cauldron  where  glowed  the  constitu 
ent  elements  of  his  wonderful  poem-philtre  and  reveals 
to  us  its  mechanism:  the  poem  was  to  be  about  one 
hundred  lines  long,  made  up  of  equal  proportions  of 
Beauty  and  Quaintness  intermingled  with  Melancholy. 
A  strange  and  thrilling  refrain  was  to  impress  this 
combination  on  the  reader  by  means  of  long  sonorous 
o's  and  r's  swelling  on  the  ear  and  the  memory  in 
anthem-like  undulations,  reverberations  of  waves  on  the 
shore,  clothed,  the  whole,  in  rhythms  whose  luxuriance 
of  alliteration,  susurrus  of  honeyed  vowels  and  liquids, 
and  rise  and  fall  of  Eolian  cadences  would  attune  the 
very  soul  to  melody  and  make  the  poem  as  sweet  as 
the  dissolving  notes  of  Apollo's  lute."  (P.  215.) 

266 


Clje  pot  Cult 


In  defending  Longfellow  from  the  charge 
of  plagiarism  brought  against  him  by  Poe, 
Professor  Harrison  write?  thus: 

' 'Longfellow  had  access  to  many  languages 
he  would  have  been  more  than  mortal  if  assimilable 
particles  of  the  foreign  gold  had  not  clung  to  his  mem 
ory  and  inwrought  themselves  here  and  there  with 
the  filaments  of  a  most  malleable  and  plastic  nature. 
The  student  of  'The  Golden  Legion'  feels  the  Schiller 
background  shimmering  through  the  rich  texture  of 
woven  gold  as  the  bit  of  verbal  Gobelins  is  being  fin 
gered,"  &c. 

Here  is  another  specimen  of  Professor 
Harrison's  "fine"  writing. 

"Poe's  work  was  so  strange,  so  extraordinary,  so 
original  as  it  towered  and  sparkled  in  columnar  beauty 
amid  the  flat  commonplace  of  the  time,  that  it  is  no 
wonder  if  editors  were  startled  and  looked  askance 
.  .  .  as  one  might  imagine  the  aborigines  of 
Nubia  gazing  at  the  gorgeous  bark  of  Cleopatra  as  it 
swept  flashing  down  the  Nile  with  all  its  oriental 
splendor  and  paraphernalia,  a  vision  of  light,  per 
fume,  and  beauty."  (P.  271.) 

But  this  is  enough. 

Professor  Harrison  takes  a  childish  delight 
in  airing  his  scraps  of  knowledge:  he  kindly 
tells  us  that  Poe  and  the  Allans  sailed  for 
England  "in  June,  1815,  the  day  before  the 
Battle  of  Waterloo."  Why  not  say  on  June 
17,  they  sailed?  He,  also,  kindly  informs  us 

267 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


that,  in  1809,  the  year  of  Poe's  birth,  "Madi 
son  was  President  of  the  United  States,  Met- 
termich  was  Prime  Minister  of  Austria,  and 
the  Battle  of  Wagram  was  fought." 

When  he  comes  to  speak  of  Poe  at  the  Uni 
versity  of  Virginia,  Professor  Harrison  treats 
us  to  a  history  of  Albemarle  County,  in  which 
the  University  is  situated,  and  describes  the 
surrounding  country,  not  omitting  Monticello, 
the  home  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  mentions 
him,  "from  his  own  Parnassus,  three  miles 
away,  looking  down  and  beholding  the  spacious 
vale  wrherein  the  cunning  magic  of  his  persua 
sive  tongue  had  evoked  a  scene  of  Grecian 
beauty  that  breathed  the  spirit  of  Old  World 
enchantment" ;  not  forgetting  to  embellish  the 
picture  with  this  "fine"  touch:  "The  poetic 
mountain  sprites  exercise  their  ingenuity  in 
carving  out  graceful  vales,  long  undulating 
slopes,  the  winding  labyrinths  of  silver  rivers, 
and  wooded  dells  thick  with  Vallambrosan 
shades." 

When  Professor  Harrison  speaks  of  Poe  in 
Richmond,  he  is  good  enough  to  remind  us 
that  Patrick  Henry,  "the  Great  Orator  of  the 
Revolution,"  was  buried  in  that  city ;  also,  that 
John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  "celebrated  for 
his  silvery  voice  and  stinging  sarcasm,"  was 
"a  familiar  figure  in  Richmond  streets,"  etc. 

268 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


Harrison  is  a  man  of  note,  or,  rather,  Notes, 
for  his  seventeen  volumes  are  loaded  down 
with  all  sorts  of  notes,  and  the  most  notable 
thing  about  them  is  that  they  are  chiefly  about 
things  not  worth  noting.  He  quotes  Poe  as 
saying:  "I  am  naturally  anxious  that  what  I 
have  written  should  circulate  as  I  wrote  it,  if 
it  circulate  at  all/'  Poe  left  corrected  copies 
of  his  works,  and,  although  he  should  be  pub 
lished  as  he  wished,  that  does  not  mean  that 
everything  he  wrote — the  sweepings  of  his 
library  and  the  scraps  from  his  waste-basket 
—should  be  preserved.  Nor  did  he  want,  or 
expect,  that  his  works  should  be  printed  with 
every  verbal  change  in  different  editions 
forced  upon  the  reader's  attention  in  a  series 
of  distracting  "notes."  An  editor  should  know 
what  to  omit  and  what  to  retain.  Jove  some 
times  nodded,  Shakespeare  was  not  always 
sublime,  Poe  wrote  many  things  which  his  own 
fastidious  taste  would  not  have  preserved. 
Professor  Harrison  claims  great  merit  for 
hunting  up  every  little  scrappy  book  notice 
that  Poe  wrote,  and  boasts  that  he  has  given 
to  the  world,  "a  new  Poe  in  the  realm  of  criti 
cism."  In  his  eagerness  to  do  something  that 
had  not  been  done  before,  he  not  only  prints 
these  trifling  book  notices,  but  "attributes"  to 
Poe  two  volumes  of  criticism  which  should 

269 


Cle  Poe  Cult 


have  been  allowed  to  rest  in  the  grave  of  dead 
magazines.  In  fact,  he  prints  everything  by, 
or  supposed  to  be  by,  Poe,  not  even  omitting 
"Big  Abel  and  Little  Manhattan,"  and  "Street 
Paving." 

Among  the  poems  attributed  to  Poe,  Pro 
fessor  Harrison  includes  "Alone,"  which  I 
happen  to  know  is  genuine,  for  I  discovered 
it  in  the  autograph  album  of  Mrs.  Balderston, 
the  wife  of  Judge  Balderston,  formerly  Chief 
Judge  of  the  Orphans'  Court  of  Baltimore.  I 
had  it  engraved  and  published  in  Scribner's 
Monthly.  I  gave  the  poem  the  name  of 
"Alone,"  and  dated  it,  as  it  had  neither  name 
nor  date,  but  the  poem  and  signature  as  pub 
lished  in  the  magazine  are  an  exact  fac  simile 
of  the  writing  in  the  album. 

Professor  Harrison,  Dr.  Charles  W.  Kent, 
and  Dr.  R.  A.  Stewart  have  formed  a  Mutual 
Admiration  Society,  and  have  used  the  Vir 
ginia  edition  of  Poe's  Works  to  exploit  them 
selves  and  show  off  their  "learning,"  much  to 
their  own  satisfaction,  no  doubt,  but  not  to  the 
entertainment  of  their  readers.  It  works 
beautifully  from  a  narrow,  provincial  point 
of  view,  but  thinking  persons  only  laugh  at 
such  transparent  folly.  A  man  is  written  up, 
or  written  down  by  himself,  and  by  himself 
alone.  The  thousands  of  verbal  notes  scat- 

270 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


tered  through  the  seventeen  volumes  by  these 
industrious  gentlemen,  are  useless,  annoying, 
and  distracting. 

In  conclusion,  I  take  pleasure  in  saying  that 
Professor  Harrison  has  my  best  wishes,  but  I 
respectfully  advise  him,  in  future,  should  he 
undertake  to  edit  a  literary  work,  to  do  the 
hunting  himself,  but  to  turn  the  material  over 
to  an  experienced  literary  expert ;  because,  with 
the  most  friendly  feeling,  I  am  compelled  to 
say  that,  when  he  tries  to  be  instructive,  he 
becomes  laughable;  when  he  tries  to  be  pro 
found,  he  is  silly;  when  he  attempts  to  sketch 
Poe's  wonderful  stories,  he  is  simply  ridicu 
lous;  and  when  he  attempts  to  be  critical,  he 
is  enough  to  make  a  stuffed  owl  die  of  laugh 
ter. 


271 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 


THE  "DISCOVERER"  OF  POE. 

Every  schoolboy  knows  who  discovered 
America,  but  many  intelligent  men  and  women 
do  not  know  who  "discovered"  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
Some  years  ago,  an  obscure  Englishman 
claimed  to  have  discovered  Poe  and  made  him 
known  to  the  American  people.  Not  only  did 
this  obscure  Englishman  claim  to  have  intro 
duced  Poe  to  American  readers,  but  he  at 
tempted  to  belittle  and  read  out  of  court  all 
Americans  who  presumed  to  write  about  their 
own  countryman.  But  while  attempting  to 
undervalue  their  work,  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
appropriate — I  like  a  gentle  word — their  ma 
terial.  I  was  a  student  of  Poe's  Life  and 
Works  before  this  presumptuous  Englishman 
had  emerged  from  his  original  obscurity.  My 
early  investigations  made  me  acquainted  with 
many  facts  about  Poe  which  were  before  un 
known,  and  brought  me  into  contact  with  per 
sons  who  knew  the  poet.  It  was  my  privilege 
to  know  Mrs.  Maria  Clemm  in  the  last  years 
of  her  life,  and  our  conversation  was  almost 
entirely  about  "Eddie"  as  she  always  called 

272 


MARIE  LOUISE  SHEW. 


C  &  e  Poe  Cult 

him.  Much  information  thus  obtained  was 
published  in  my  first — which  was  a  "pioneer" 
—Life  of  Poe,  issued  four  years  before  the 
Englishman's  pretentious  biography  had  ap 
peared. 

I  confess  I  have  been  astonished  at  what  I 
have  heard  regarding  the  "peculiar"  methods 
this  "Discoverer"  has  used  in  adding  to  his 
Poeana.  One  of  Poe's  best  friends  at  the 
time  when  he  most  needed  friends — before,  at 
the  time,  and  immediately  after  the  death  of 
his  wife — was  Mrs.  Mary  Louise  Shew,  after 
ward  Mrs.  Harcourt,  who  nursed  him  back  to 
life  from  the  desperate  illness  which  followed 
the  death  of  his  wife.  With  his  usual  grati 
tude  for  favors  received,  Poe  addressed  two 
poems  to  this  lady — "To  M.  L.  S.,"  and  a  poem 
in  blank  verse,  "To  -  — ,"  commencing, 

"Not  long  ago,  the  writer  of  these  lines." 

The  "Discoverer"  of  Poe  discovered  that  the 
former  Mrs.  Shew — now  Mrs.  Harcourt— 
was  in  possession  of  four  original  poems  and 
many  letters  from  the  poet.  He  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Harcourt  to  aid  him  in  the  defence  of  her 
friend.  In  the  goodness  of  her  heart,  she  sent 
him  all  the  manuscripts,  letters,  and  a  minia 
ture  of  Poe's  mother,  Elizabeth  Poe.  Among 
these  poems  was  the  original  first  draft  of 

273 


C  is  e  p o e  C u 1 1 

"The  Bells,"  which  was  written  at  Mrs.  Shew's 
suggestion.  This  is  a  manuscript  of  priceless 
value.  I  have  been  furnished  with  the  follow 
ing  extracts  from  the  "Discoverer's"  letters  to 
Mrs.  Harcourt  and  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Wil 
liam  Wiley: 

"January  28,  1875 — I  have  not  returned  the 
letter  from  Poe,  enclosed  in  your  daughter's, 
as  I  think  I  should  like  it  lithographed,  if  you 
do  not  see  any  objection." 

"March  12,  1875 — I  have  carefully  read 
through,  and  taken  notes  of  your  most  inter 
esting  44  pages.  .  .  .  You  have  a  portrait 
of  Poe's  mother.  I  should  so  value  a  copy, 
and  would  gladly  pay  for  it,  if  you  would  have 
it  copied?  Will  you  allow  this?"  (Mrs.  Har 
court  sent  him  the  original.) 

"April  1 6,  1875 — I  am  just  sending  you  a 
few  lines  to  acknowledge  your  kind  letters,  and 
to  let  you  know  that  the  two  poems  are  safely 
to  hand.  These  latter  I  will  take  every  care 
of,  and  should  like  to  have  fac  similes  taken 
of  them,  if  you  do  not  object." 

"March  n,  1876 — A  French  translation  of 
Poe's  Poems  is  shortly  to  be  published  in 
Paris.  May  I  let  them  have  a  fac  simile  made 
of  the  shorter  of  the  two  poems  addressed  to 
you?  The  larger  one  I  do  not  want  to  appear 
anywhere  but  in  my  forthcoming  Life  of  Poe." 

274 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


"February  24,  1876 — Your  copies  of  Poe's 
poems  are  perfectly  safe,  and  I  am  keeping 
them  until  I  can  have  them  fac  similed  for  the 
Life.  I  guard  them  as  the  apple  of  my  eye!" 

"May  27,  1879  (to  Mrs-  Wiley) — I  have  not 
completed  my  Life  of  Poe,  and  not  deeming, 
from  your  kind  mamma's  correspondence,  that 
there  ever  would  be  any  haste  for  the  return 
of  the  poems,  I  do  not  hurry.  Of  course,  now 
you  and  your  sister  stand  in  her  place,  and 
as  soon  as  I  hear  from  you  again,  I  will  for 
ward  them  to  you." 

"January  22,  1880 — Mr.  -  -  has  received 
Mrs.  Wiley's  letter  of  December  22,  1879,  an<^ 
will  reply  to  it  in  a  few  days,  and  will  return 
the  poems  asked  for  as  soon  as  he  can  find 
them  among  Mrs.  Harcourt's  letters  and 
papers,  doubtless  within  the  week."  (Note  by 
Mr.  Wiley.)  "He  had  to  hunt  among  Mrs. 
Harcourt's  papers  for  what  he  'guarded  as  the 
apple  of  his  eye/  One  poem,  'To  M.  L.  S.,J 
was  returned  in  June,  1880." 

The  "Discoverer"  claimed  that  Mrs.  Har- 
court  gave  him  certain  of  the  poems,  and  the 
letters,  and  in  one  of  his  last  communications 
to  Mrs.  Wiley,  he  said  he  had  her  letter,  and 
would  show  it  to  any  friend.  Mrs.  Wiley  says 
that  such  a  proposition  as  giving  away  any 
thing  written  by  Poe  was  not  thought  of, 

275 


C&£  P  o  c  Cult 

talked  of,  or  written  about.  Mrs.  Gove-Nich- 
olls,  who  knew  Mrs.  Shew,  and  took  her  to  see 
the  Poes  at  Fordham,  told  the  "Discoverer" 
about  the  friendship  between  Poe  and  Mrs. 
Shew,  and  hence  the  correspondence. 

Mr.  Wiley  writes  me  that  "It  is  unreason 
able  to  suppose  that  my  mother  (Mrs.  Har- 
court),  who  treasured  these  precious  me 
morials  of  Poe  for  over  twenty-five  years, 
showing  them  often  to  her  children  and 
friends,  \vould  give  them  to  a  stranger  in  a 
foreign  land.  You  know  that  Poe  wrote  "The 
Bells"  in  her  library.  The  story  of  its  origin 
is  true.  More  than  anything  else  she  prized 
that  poem.  After  her  death,  her  children,  in 
spired  by  her  feeling  for  the  poet,  kept,  as  a 
sacred  object,  the  table  on  which  the  first  draft 
of  "The  Bells"  was  written.  They  learned 
to  reverence  everything  that  came  to  them 
through  their  mother's  relations  to  the  poet." 


276 


Cije  poe  Cuit 


POE  AND  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 
VIRGINIA. 

When  the  University  of  Virginia  announced 
a  four  days'  celebration  of  the  Centennial  of 
the  birth  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  I  was  astonished 
to  see  Professor  Barrett  Wendell,  of  Harvard 
University,  named  as  the  principal  speaker 
upon  the  occasion.  I  expressed  my  astonish 
ment  in  the  following  communication  to  the 
Baltimore  American: 

To  THE  EDITOR:  It  is  right,  proper,  and 
just  that  the  University  of  Virginia  should 
celebrate  the  centennial  of  the  birth  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe,  her  most  distinguished  alumnus. 
Few  American  universities  can  boast  of  such  a 
son  and  in  honoring  him  it  does  a  greater 
honor  to  herself.  But  why  this  long-delayed 
recognition  of  Poe's  genius — why  wait  until 

Through  many  a  year  his  fame  has  grown, 
Like  midnight,  vast;  like  sunlight,  sweet, 

Till  now  his  genius  fills  a  throne 
And  nations  marvel  at  his  feet. 

During  his  life  of  sorrow,  suffering,  and 
song  his  alma  mater  said  no  word  of  encour- 

277 


Cfce  Poe  Cult 

agement — it  offered  him  no  chair,  no  reward, 
no  fellowship,  when 

Unmerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs  one 

burden  bore — 

Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore 
Of  "never — nevermore." 

When  the  University  of  Virginia  offers  her 
tardy  tribute  to  Poe  100  years  after  his  birth, 
why  does  she  select  a  New  Englander  to  be 
the  principal  speaker  upon  the  occasion — Prof. 
Barrett  Wendell,  of  Harvard  University?  Is 
the  South  so  destitute  of  literary  men  that  its 
leading  university  could  not  find  a  Southern 
man  to  honor  the  memory  of  its  greatest  poet  ? 

Astonished  as  I  am  that  the  University  of 
Virginia  should  select  Professor  Wendell  to 
do  honor  to  Poe,  my  wonder  grows  that  he 
should  accept  the  invitation,  in  view  of  his 
deliberately  expressed  opinion  of  the  poet  in 
his  "Literary  History  of  America,"  where  he 
denounces  Poe  as  "a  man,  in  his  life,  of  doubt 
ful  repute,"  adding  that  "his  life  was  ugly,  sin 
ful,  sordid,"  and  that  "there  are  a  thousand 
errors  in  his  personal  life."  I  am  not  surprised 
that  he  should  express  such  an  opinion  of  Poe's 
life  when  he  displays  such  ignorance  of  what 
he  is  talking  about.  Here  are  a  few  speci 
mens:  "In  1826  he  was  for  a  year  at  the  Uni- 

278 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


versity   of   Virginia,    where   his   career   was 
brought  to  an  end  by  a  gambling  scrape." 

So  Professor  Wendell  accepts,  with  childish 
credulity  the  oft-disproved  story  of  Rufus  W. 
Griswold.  Again:  "The  story  goes  that  he 
— Poe — was  passing  through  Baltimore  either 
on  his  way  to  see  his  betrothed,  or  on  his  way 
from  a  visit  to  her."  Such  ignorance  is  truly 
refreshing.  Here  is  another:  "Some  petty 
politicians  .  .  .  picked  him  up  ...  and 
made  him  vote  all  over  town.  Having  thus 
exhausted  his  political  usefulness,  they  left 
him  in  the  gutter,  from  whence  he  found  his 
way  to  a  hospital,  where  he  certainly  died." 

It  is  certainly  true  that  Poe  died  in  a  hos 
pital,  and  that  is  one  grain  of  truth  in  Pro 
fessor  Wendell's  last  statement.  Let  us  hope 
that  he  has  read  some  of  the  dozen  lives  of 
Poe  that  have  been  written  since  Griswold's 
mendacious  biography  and  that  he  knows  more 
about  Poe's  life  than  he  did  when  he  wrote 
his  "Literary  History  of  America,"  otherwise 
his  audience  at  the  University  of  Virginia 
celebration  on  January  19  will  not  only  be 
astonished,  but,  I  fear,  disappointed  and  dis 
gusted. 

EUGENE)  L. 

1722  North  Calvert  Street. 
279 


C&e  Poe  Cult 


This  letter  fell  like  an  unexpected  bomb 
shell  among  the  faculty  of  the  University  of 
Virginia,  in  the  midst  of  their  pretentious  at 
tempt  to  "honor"  Poe  upon  his  centenary.  One 
of  the  professors,  who  is  said  to  have  secured 
his  professorship  through  the  generosity  of  his 
sister-in-law,  who  denoted  $60,000  for  the 
foundation  of  the  chair  which  he  occupies,  was 
so  incensed  at  the  severe  truths  in  my  article 
that,  he  wrote  me  a  letter  so  furious,  so  fran 
tic,  and  so  foolish  that  his  more  sensible  wife 
persuaded  him  not  to  send  it. 

Does  this  provincial  professor  suppose  that 
I,  a  man  of  the  world,  I  who  have  traveled  in 
many  lands,  and  met  some  of  the  greatest  men 
of  Europe  and  America — would  care  for  his 
petulant  and  childish  anger? 

The  University  of  Virginia  showed  no  in 
terest  in  Poe  until  the  Semi-Centennial  of  his 
death,  October  7,  1899,  when,  "with  many  a 
flirt  and  flutter,"  a  bust  of  the  poet  was  un 
veiled  in  an  alcove  of  the  Rotunda  Library. 
Hamilton  W.  Mabie  was  chosen  to  deliver  the 
address  upon  the  occasion.  I  have  nothing  to 
say  about  the  propriety  of  selecting  a  Northern 
man  to  eulogize  a  Southern  poet.  I  do  not 
propose  to  question  the  ability  of  the  South  to 
furnish  a  speaker  for  such  an  occasion,  but  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  say,  and  I  wish  to  say  it  most 

280 


oe  Cult 


emphatically,  that  the  selection  of  Mr.  Mabie, 
or  any  other  Northern  man,  was  a  direct  and 
distinct  insult — a  slap  in  the  face  of  every  man 
of  letters  in  the  South ;  an  open  slur  upon  hun 
dreds  of  men  who  were  quite  as  capable  of 
eulogizing  their  poet  as  Mr.  Mabie,  or  any 
other  Northern  man.  If  the  committee  having 
the  matter  in  charge  intended  to  proclaim  the 
literary  poverty  of  the  South,  it  is  an  admis 
sion  which  I,  for  one,  will  never  make.  Mr. 
Mabie  was  the  wrong  man  for  the  place,  but 
he  did  show  a  certain  appreciation  of  Poe, 
when  he  announced  that  he  was  entitled  to  the 
first  place  in  American  letters  by  virtue  of  pos 
sessing  a  most  exact  literary  conscience  and 
producing  works  of  the  clearest  and  finest  art. 
The  connection  of  Poe  with  the  University 
of  Virginia  is  the  most  interesting  fact  in  its 
history,  yet,  it  completely  ignored  him  until 
half  a  century  after  his  death,  when  it  joined 
in  the  chorus  of  the  world's  applause.  This 
late  recognition  of  America's  greatest  genius 
does  not  reflect  much  credit  upon  his  Alma 
Mater.  The  "meed  of  justice"  was  so  "long 
delayed/'  that  the  University  of  Virginia  de 
serves  the  disgraceful  reproach  of  treating  her 
most  illustrious  son  with  the  cold  and  heart 
less  indifference  of  a  stepmother,  instead  of 

281 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


cherishing  him  with  the  tender  and  loving  care 
of  a  fond  and  devoted  parent. 

When  the  University  of  Virginia  sought  to 
make  amends  for  its  belated  recognition  of 
Poe,  the  Committee  having  charge  of  the  Cen 
tennial  celebration,  stultified  itself  most  igno- 
miniously  by  inviting  Professor  Barrett  Wen 
dell  to  deliver  the  principal  address.  The 
Committee  was  either  grossly  ignorant  of 
American  literature,  or  insultingly  defiant  of 
Southern  feeling  when  it  selected  such  a  man 
for  such  an  occasion — a  man  who  had  shown 
himself  disgracefully  ignorant  of  Poe's  life, 
and  outrageously  prejudiced  against  him. 

The  selection  of  this  Harvard  professor  to 
deliver  the  principal  address  at  the  Poe  Cen 
tennial  is  most  extraordinary  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  Dr.  Charles  William  Kent  is  the 
Literary  Editor  of  a  "Library  of  Southern 
Literature/'  which  claims  to  be  "a  scholarly 
venture,"  "Southern  in  tone/'  whose  "purpose 
is  the  frank  and  patriotic  desire  to  lay  more 
deeply  the  foundations  of  our  greatness,  by 
establishing  that  not  New  England  alone,  but 
the  South  as  well,  has  enjoyed  the  gift  of  ut 
terance."  Yet,  in  the  face  of  this  declaration, 
a  New  England  professor  was  invited  to  take 
the  leading  part  in  "honoring"  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
It  was  a  piece  of  amazing  folly  unsurpassed 

282 


Cle  poe  Cult 


in  the  annals  of  literature,  since  letters  were 
first  invented,  or  since  the  Father  of  Poetry 
sang  his  immortal  songs  through  the  cities  of 
Greece.  However,  we  should  not  be  so  as 
tonished  at  this  foolish  action  of  the  Committee 
of  the  University  of  Virginia,  when  we  re 
member  that  the  President  of  that  institution 
awarded  the  prize  of  one  hundred  dollars  of 
fered  by  the  United  Daughters  of  the  Con 
federacy  for  the  best  essay  on  "Robert  E. 
Lee,"  to  Miss  Christine  Boysen,  of  Minnesota, 
who  spoke  of  what  Lee  did  as  "treason"  that 
he  "chose  the  wrong  side,"  etc.  Dr.  Alder 
man,  either  did  not  read  the  essay  before 
awarding  the  prize,  or  he  agreed  with  the 
writer  of  the  essay  who  pronounced  General 
Lee  a  "traitor."  In  either  case,  he  is  unfit  to 
be  the  President  of  the  leading  University  of 
the  South. 


283 


oe  Cult 


THE  CENTENNIAL  OF  THE  BIRTH  OF 
EDGAR  A.  POE. 

The  splendor  of  Poe's  fame,  the  extraor 
dinary  and  distinct  quality  of  his  genius, 
and  the  universality  of  its  recognition,  made 
the  Centennial  of  his  birth  on  the  iQth  of 
January,  1909,  one  of  the  most  interesting 
events  in  the  literary  history  of  the  United 
States,  if  not  in  the  world. 

When  Edgar  A.  Poe  was  born,  it  would 
have  required  an  astrologer  of  divine  gifts  to 
have  drawn  the  horoscope  of  his  life.  The 
child  of  strolling  players,  left  a  destitute 
orphan  at  the  age  of  two  years,  brought  up 
in  luxury,  taught  to  expect  to  inherit  a  splendid 
fortune,  he  was  turned  out  on  the  world  at 
the  most  critical  period  of  his  youth  without 
experience,  without  a  guide,  without  a  dollar, 
but,  by  the  divine  right  of  genius,  he  has  con 
ferred  more  glory  upon  American  literature 
than  any  other  American  writer,  and  taken  a 
place  among  the  few,  the  immortal  names  that 
are  not  born  to  die.  Other  writers  of  his  time 
lived,  wrote,  and  died,  and  in  the  course  of  a 

284 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


few  years,  their  works  were  forgotten,  and 
their  lives  possess  no  interest  to  the  genera 
tions  that  succeeded  them.  Who  reads  Willis, 
Halleck,  Hoffman,  Drake,  Paulding,  Whipple, 
Tuckerman,  Headley,  Simms,  and  others — 
how  few  now  read  even  Bryant,  Lowell,  Long 
fellow,  Irving,  Prescott,  and  Cooper?  W^hile 
these  once  prominent  writers  are  forgotten,  or 
seldom  read,  edition  after  edition  of  Poe's 
Works  are  required  to  supply  the  ever-increas 
ing  demand.  Twelve  lives  of  Poe  have  been 
published,  and  the  end  is  not  yet.  Magazine 
and  newspaper  articles,  more  or  less  false,  are 
eagerly  read. 

The  universal  voice  of  two  continents  has 
pronounced  Edgar  A.  Poe  the  most  extraor 
dinary  genius  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
After  a  life  of  sorrow,  suffering,  and  song,  he 
died  when  a  better  and  a  brighter  day  was 
about  to  dawn  upon  the  "unhappy  Master  of 
'The  Raven/  "  who  had  lived  and  died  a  mys 
tery  to  the  world,  to  his  friends,  and  to  him 
self.  He  died  under  a  cloud,  and  for  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century,  his  name  and  fame  were 
blackened  by  the  vindictive  malice  of  his  ene 
mies.  The  literary  lion  died,  and  asses  kicked 
and  mangled  the  defenceless  poet;  with  fiend 
ish  delight,  the  literary  jackals  revelled  in 

285 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

their  prey.  The  malice  of  Poe's  defamers  was 
only  equalled  by  their  ignorance. 

"In  this  dismal  room  fame  was  won,"  said 
Hawthorne,  after  the  Scarlet  Letter  had  made 
him  famous.  He  had  waited  long  and  pa 
tiently  for  fame  to  come  to  him :  for  more  than 
ten  years  he  was  "the  most  obscure  literary 
man  in  America,"  as  he  said  of  himself.  He 
was  nearly  fifty  years  old  when  he  ceased  to 
be  "the  most  obscure  literary  man  in  America," 
and  became  one  of  the  most  famous.  To  Poe 
fame  came  early  in  life :  before  he  was  twenty- 
seven  years  old  he  had  acquired  a  national 
reputation  by  his  tales  and  criticisms.  He  was 
only  thirty-four  when  "The  Raven"  was  pub 
lished,  which  showed  him  to  be  the  most 
original  writer  of  his  time.  But,  after  his 
tragical  and  untimely  death — he  was  only 
forty — in  the  full  splendor  of  his  mental  vigor, 
his  name  and  fame  passed  under  a  cloud  which 
grew  blacker  and  blacker,  until,  in  the  course 
of  time,  America  rejected  her  most  marvelous 
genius,  and  worshipped  at  the  shrine  of  false 
poetical  idols.  He  passed  so  absolutely  out  of 
the  world's  thoughts  that  even  the  time  and 
place  of  his  birth  were  uncertain,  and  the  time 
of  death  and  the  place  of  his  burial  were  un 
known. 

The  unveiling  of  the  Poe  monument,  in  Bal- 
286 


poe  Cult 


timore,  on  the  i?th  of  November,  1875,  started 
a  revival  of  interest  in  the  life  and  works  of 
Poe.  Since  which  time  no  American,  and  few 
writers  of  any  nation,  have  been  so  written 
about  in  books,  magazines,  and  newspapers. 
Careful  and  systematic  investigation  has  dis 
covered  that  he  possessed  the  very  virtues  and 
attributes — gratitude,  sincerity,  and  affection 
— which  were  denied  to  him  by  his  early  biog 
raphers.  To  the  Honorable  John  P.  Kennedy, 
his  first  literary  friend,  he  always  expressed 
the  most  unbounded  gratitude  on  every  occa 
sion.  In  a  letter  dated  Richmond,  Va.,  Jan 
uary  22,  1836,  after  speaking  of  his  restored 
health  and  bright  prospects,  he  says :  "I  shall 
never  forget  to  whom  all  this  happiness  is,  in 
a  great  degree  to  be  attributed.  I  know  with 
out  your  timely  aid  I  should  have  sunk  under 
my  trials."  From  a  letter  of  Mr.  Kennedy  to 
Poe,  dated  Baltimore,  December  22,  1834,  we 
learn  that  Poe  was  paid  only  one  dollar  a 
printed  page  for  his  contributions  to  Miss 
Leslie's  "Souvenir,"  one  of  those  namby- 
pamby  "Annuals,"  "Keepsakes,"  or  "Gift- 
Books,"  which  flourished  in  England  and  the 
United  States  between  1830  and  1850. 

The  amazing  growth  of  Poe's  fame  is  shown 
by  the  extraordinary  prices  that  the  first  edi 
tions  of  his  works  command  in  the  book  auc- 

287 


Cf)e  Poe  Cult 


tion  market,  and  by  the  universal  interest  in 
everything  connected  with  his  works,  and  es 
pecially  with  his  life.  One  of  the  tests  of  an 
enduring  literary  rank  is  that  of  cosmopolitan 
approval.  That  Poe  stands  this  test  is  shown 
by  his  rank  as  a  world-poet.  An  American 
writer,  who  is  not  especially  noted  for  bestow 
ing  indiscriminate  praise — Prof.  William  P. 
Trent,  of  Columbia  University — declares  that 
Poe  is  a  "Prince  in  the  Court  of  Fame/'  and 
that  the  "Palm  of  immortality  is  upon  his 
head." 

Naturally,  the  great  occasion  of  the  Poe 
Centennial  caused  many  articles  to  be  pub 
lished  about  the  poet  in  the  newspapers  and 
magazines.  Most  of  these  articles  were  in 
spired  by  either  ignorance,  indifference,  or  in 
justice.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that,  even  at  this 
late  day,  when  so  much  has  been  written  about 
Poe,  it  is  impossible  for  the  average  writer 
to  tell  the  simple  truth  about  him.  The  poet's 
portrait,  as  drawn  by  the  press,  resembles  a 
ruined  palace  attempted  to  be  restored  by  un 
skillful  apprentices,  in  which  stately  columns 
stand  in  the  midst  of  ghastly  desolation,  and 
once  beautiful  frescoes  are  bespattered  with 
mud. 

The  early  biographers  of  Poe  were  actuated 
by  envy  and  malice,  and  invented  lies  to 

288 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


blacken  his  name  and  cloud  his  fame.  No  of 
fence  was  too  grave,  no  crime  too  monstrous 
for  the  diabolical  ingenuity  of  his  enemies  to 
lay  at  his  door.  The  world  read,  wondered, 
and  believed.  The  devil's  work  that  the  im 
mortally  infamous  Griswold  did  was  in  accept 
ing  the  position  of  Poe's  biographer  and  edi 
tor,  when  his  heart  was  full  of  hate  and  malice. 
The  law  of  biography  is  that  the  best  should 
be  told,  and  when  this  false  biographer  told 
the  evil  things  about  Poe,  the  world  believed 
that  he  had  made  the  best  of  a  bad  story ;  and, 
thus  an  injustice  was  done  to  Poe  that  still 
overshadows  his  memory.  Dr.  Goldwin  Smith, 
in  the  garrulousness  of  old  age,  prates  of  Poe 
as  being  untrue  to  his  art.  Either  Dr.  Smith 
has  not  read  Poe's  works,  or  he  has  outlived 
the  capability  of  understanding  them.  All 
readers  of  Poe  know  that  he  was  true  to  his 
art  even  in  his  slightest  story,  and  this  fidelity 
has  caused  him  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
most  artistic  writers  that  has  enriched  the 
literature  of  the  world. 

The  most  laughable  ignorance  about  Poe 
was  displayed  by  a  writer  who  claims  to  be  a 
relative  of  the  poet.  A  magazine  of  some 
standing  was  found  easy  enough  to  publish 
this  absurd  article  in  which  Baltimore  is 
claimed  as  the  birthplace  of  the  author  of 

289 


Cfje  poe  Cult 


"The  Raven."  Baltimore  was,  undoubtedly, 
the  right  place  for  the  birthplace  of  our  poet, 
but,  unfortunately,  fate  decreed  that  he  was 
born  in  Boston,  a  city  which  he  heartily  de 
spised.  The  article  under  discussion  contains 
scarcely  a  correct  statement;  I  have  neither 
time  nor  space  to  mention  all  of  them.  These 
will  suffice:  speaking  of  the  present  Holliday 
Street  Theatre,  Baltimore,  she  says,  "fifty 
years  ago  a  noble  player  folk  thronged  its 
board.  There  in  the  dim  ago,  stood  young 
Elizabeth  Arnold,  afterward  the  mother  of 
Edgar  Allan  Poe."  The  old  Holliday  Street 
Theatre  was  not  opened  until  the  Spring  of 
1812,  months  after  Elizabeth  Poe's  death;  it 
was  burned  down  on  the  loth  of  September, 
1873,  and  the  present  theatre  erected,  so  "fifty 
years  ago,  a  noble  player  folk"  could  not  have 
"thronged  its  boards."  In  a  rambling  sort  of 
a  way  the  article  goes  on  to  speak  of  Poe's 
"wanderings  in  Greece  and  Turkey."  All  in 
telligent  readers  know  that  Poe  never  went  to 
Greece  and  Turkey.  She  further  says  that 
"Mrs.  Allan  died  while  Poe  was  at  West 
Point."  In  fact,  Mrs.  Allan  died  on  the  28th 
of  February,  1829,  and  Poe  did  not  enter  West 
Point  until  July  i,  1830.  She  says  "Mrs. 
Clemm  died  only  a  few  years  ago."  Mrs. 
Clemm  died  on  February  16,  1871.  She  says 

290 


Cfte  Poe  Cult 


John  P.  Kennedy,  one  of  the  committee  who 
awarded  the  prize  to  Poe,  "was,  afterward, 
Postmaster  General  under  President  Tyler." 
He  was  nothing  of  the  kind — he  was  Secretary 
of  the  Navy  under  President  Fillmore.  Speak 
ing  of  Poe's  strange,  mysterious  death,  she 
says,  "on  the  night  of  October  4,  1849,  ne  ar~ 
rived  in  Baltimore  from  Richmond,  by  train." 
On  the  contrary,  he  left  Richmond  by  boat  and 
arrived  in  Baltimore  on  the  morning  of  the  3d 
of  October.  She  says,  further,  that  he  "was 
drugged  by  Plug  Uglies,  by  whom  he  was 
voted  around  the  city/'  In  fact,  the  political 
roughs  known  as  Plug  Uglies  were  not  heard 
of  in  Baltimore  until  nearly  ten  years  after 
Poe's  death,  that  is  to  say,  about  1857.  Again, 
she  says  he  "was  found  on  the  steps  of  the  old 
Baltimore  Museum,  corner  of  Baltimore  and 
Calvert  Streets."  He  was  founr1  at  the  Fourth 
Ward  polls,  on  Lombard  Street,  between  High 
and  Exeter  Streets.  She  says  he  "was  fol 
lowed  to  the  grave  by  Mrs.  Clemm  and  a  few 
classmates."  Mrs.  Clemm  did  not  know  of  his 
death  until  after  he  was  buried,  and  only  one 
of  his  classmates  attended  the  funeral — Z.  Col 
lins  Lee,  afterward  Judge  of  the  Superior 
Court  of  Baltimore.  She  calls  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman  Sarah  Osgood  Whitman.  The  ar 
ticle,  from  beginning  to  end,  is  a  tissue  of  er- 

291 


Cult 


TOTS.  How  such  stuff  gets  printed  would  be  a 
wonder  did  we  not  know  how  profoundly  ig 
norant  is  the  run  of  magazine  editors. 

Amid  the  almost  universal  paeans  of  praise, 
of  national  pride,  and  international  apprecia 
tion  evoked  by  the  Centennial  of  the  birthday 
of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  a  few  discordant  notes  were 
heard,  piped  by  puny,  petty,  petulant  men  and 
women,  who  are  either  grossly  ignorant  of  the 
poet's  life  and  works,  or  envious  of  his  splendid 
fame.  While  these  few  shallow,  discredited 
American  critics  employed  falsehood,  insinua 
tion,  and  vituperation  in  a  vain  attempt  to  be 
little  their  own  poet,  the  English  reviewers 
celebrated  the  centenary  of  Poe's  birth  by  ar 
ticles  distinguished  by  rare  and  discriminating 
appreciation,  by  fine  literary  style,  exquisite 
culture,  and  ripe  scholarship. 

As  a  specimen  of  the  narrow-minded  spirit 
still  prevailing  in  some  portions  of  this  coun 
try,  it  is  only  necessary  to  quote  the  language 
of  Professor  Arthur  D.  Hadley,  of  Yale  Uni 
versity,  in  attempting  to  explain  the  second  re 
jection  of  Poe  for  a  place  in  the  so-called  Hall 
of  Fame:  "Because  nearly  everything  he 
wrote  reads  like  the  work  of  a  man  who  was 
occasionally  intemperate,  and  who  did  not 
habitually  pay  his  debts." 

292 


Cult 


What  folly!  What  supreme  ignorance! 
How  convincing  such  a  statement  is  that  your 
college  professor,  outside  of  his  own  narrow 
sphere,  is  the  most  ignorant  of  men,  excepting 
a  police  officer. 

Strange  that  men  so  fastidious  in  regard  to 
the  moralities  could  conscientiously  vote  for 
Henry  Ward  Beecher,  or  Ralph  Waldo  Emer 
son,  who  pronounced  John  Brown  a  "saint," 
or  John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  who  was  an 
avowed  Abolitionist.  Poe's  scorn  of  mediocre 
men  would  have  made  him  unwilling  to  be  in 
such  ill-sorted  company  as  this  absurd  attempt 
at  an  American  Valhalla  has  gathered  to 
gether  by  the  votes  of  ignorant  and  prejudiced 
electors. 

All  true  friends  of  Poe  should  rejoice  at  the 
colossal  stupidity  which  has  kept  him  out  of 
this  incongruous  and  heterogeneous  mess.  Can 
we  imagine  a  French  Hall  of  Fame  without 
Victor  Hugo — an  English  Hall  of  Fame  with 
out  Byron — a  German  Hall  of  Fame  without 
Goethe?  And  Poe  was  an  archangel  of  virtue 
compared  with  these  famous  men. 

The  asinine  conduct  of  the  electors  of  our 
so-called  Hall  of  Fame  inspired  the  blind-poet 
of  the  South,  Father  Tabb,  to  write  this 
quatrain : 

293 


Cftc  Poe  Cult 


Into  the  charnal  Hall  of  Fame 

None  but  the  dead  should  go ; 
Then  carve  not  there  the  living  name 

Of  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Some  men  have  been  foolish  enough  to  say 
that  Shakespeare  was  no  poet.  Shallow,  nar 
row-minded  critics  have  said  that  Poe  was  no 
genius.  The  world  has  decided  otherwise.  Ig 
norant  people  have  said  that  Poe's  wonderful 
poems  and  tales  were  the  work  of  a  madman 
or  a  drunkard.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
crazy  people  believe  all  others  insane.  The 
conclusion  is  irresistible  that  those  persons  who 
say  Poe  was  mad  because  he  wrote  such  mar 
velous  poems  and  tales  are  themselves  fit  sub 
jects  for  the  lunatic  asylum,  or  the  strait- 
jacket.  As  to  those  splendid  works  emanating 
from  the  brain  of  a  drunkard,  I  have  only  to 
say  that  it  would  be  well  to  supply  some  of  the 
present  American  authors  with  the  same  brand 
of  whisky  that  inspired  Poe  so  that  our  litera 
ture  would  be  more  worthy  of  our  place  as 
the  foremost  nation  of  the  world. 

Compared  with  his  detractors,  Poe's  genius 
is  that  of  the  electric  search  light  to  a  tallow 
candle.  The  small  fry  of  American  literature 
cannot  harm  the  author  of  "The  Raven"  by 
their  malice  and  mendacity :  he  is  too  far  above 
them  to  be  hit  by  their  pointless  arrows. 

When  Alexander  the  Great  was  asked 
294 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

whether  he  would  contend  at  the  Olympian 
Games,  he  answered  royally:  "Yes,  if  Kings 
are  my  antagonists."  So,  I  claim  that  Edgar 
A.  Poe  should  be  judged  by  his  peers,  if  any 
can  be  found,  and  not  by  the  small  fryt  of 
American  literature,  such  as  some  of  those  who 
have  bobbed  up  in  this  his  centennial  year. 

A  handful  of  fanatics,  mad  with  impotent 
rage,  rush  out  of  the  desert,  and  hurl  their 
javelins  at  the  Pyramids.  The  furious  fanat 
ics  retire,  in  confusion,  to  their  desert  home, 
leaving  the  Pyramids  unharmed  by  their  futile 
frenzy.  They  stand,  the  imperishable  monu 
ments  of  the  ancient,  and  the  admiration  of 
the  modern,  world.  So  the  fame  of  Edgar  A. 
Poe  has  outlived  the  vicious  but  impotent  at 
tacks  of  envy,  stupidity,  imbecility,  and  medioc 
rity. 

Availing  himself  of  the  universal  interest  in 
Poe  on  account  of  his  centennial,  an  obscure 
writer  in  Scribner's  Magazine  attempted  to 
dress  himself  in  a  little  brief  notoriety  by  at 
tacking  a  literary  artist  whose  intellectual 
shoes  he  is  not  worthy  to  loose.  We  all  know 
who  Edgar  Poe  is,  but  who  is  this  obscure 
scribbler — what  has  he  done  in  literature  that 
qualifies  him  to  judge  such  a  man  as  the  au 
thor  of  "The  Raven"?  He  shall  not  enjoy 
even  the  unenviable  infamy  of  Gr  is  wold,  for 

295 


Poe  Cult 


he  is  one  of  the  unknown  writers  whom  the 
world  will  willingly  let  die.  Careful  research 
and  systematic  investigation  having  exposed 
the  lies  told  of  Poe  by  his  earlier  biographers, 
later  writers  have  attempted  to  depreciate  his 
genius,  but,  in  this  they  have  succeeded,  not 
in  endangering  Poe's  fame,  for  that  is  world 
wide,  but  simply  in  writing  themselves  down  as 
being  of  the  long-eared  kind,  to  use  no  harsher 
term.  Poe's  Works  stand,  and  will  ever  stand 
as  the  imperishable  monuments  of  his  rare  and 
remarkable  genius.  There  they  are.  They 
cannot  be  written  out  of  the  world's  literature 
by  the  puny  attacks  of  ignorant,  malicious,  and 
jealous  scribblers.  Unfortunate  would  it  be 
for  American  literature  should  the  impotent 
ravings  of  such  poor  creatures  be  heeded. 

I  determined  not  to  lend  even  my  mite  to 
keep  alive  the  ignoble  names  of  the  later  de- 
famers  of  Poe.  One  journal  of  imfamous  his 
tory  opened  its  columns  to  articles  inspired  by 
jaundiced  imbecility,  premeditated  malice,  and 
vulgar  spite.  Oh,  for  the  powerful  pen  of 
Poe  to  strike  down  these  wretched  scribblers 
who,  in  their  mad  jealousy,  have  assailed  the 
master-genius  of  American  literature  in  the 
hour  of  his  glory.  One  of  these  writers  is  so 
ignorant  of  American  literary  biography  that 
he  speaks  of  Poe  as  a  native  of  Virginia,  and 

296 


Cfie  Poe  Cult 

of  the  exquisite  Maryland  poet,  Edward  C. 
Pinkney,  as  a  South  Carolinian!  Think  of 
such  an  ignoramus  having  the  audacity  to  at 
tempt  to  belittle  Edgar  A.  Poe,  whose  genius 
is  the  admiration  of  two  continents  and  the 
glory  of  his  own!  Think  of  such  a  man  dar 
ing  to  speak  of  Poe's  stories,  which  have  filled 
the  world  with  wonder,  as  "apprenticepieces !" 
Think  of  such  a  man  who  writes  rubbish  which 
no  intelligent  person  can  read,  and  which  have 
long  since  been  thrown  on  the  trash  pile — 
think  of  such  a  man,  who  has  no  more  imagina 
tion  than  a  street-digger — having  the  supreme 
insolence  to  say  that  Poe  has  no  imagination, 
when  all  the  world  has  wondered  at  his  aston 
ishing  imagination !  Think  of  such  a  man  hav 
ing  the  effrontery  to  say  that  "this  generation 
is  doing  work  entirely  surpassing  Poe's  in 
beauty."  Where  is  this  wonderful  work? 
Certainly  not  in  this  fellow's  terrible  trash. 
Poe's  works  are  eagerly  read  sixty  years  after 
his  death,  while  it  is  impossible  to  read  this 
fellow's  realistic  rubbish,  although  he  is  still 
alive.  He,  also,  says  that  the  "leading  maga 
zines  of  the  present  day  would  not  have  Poe, 
if  he  were  writing  now,  and  the  theatres  would 
no  more  have  Shakespeare."  No  doubt,  the 
magazines  that  print  his  stuff  would  not 
"have"  Poe's  fine,  artistic  work.  He  says, 

297 


Cfte  poe  Cult 


further,  he  could  not  give  his  whole  heart  to 
more  than  three  or  four  of  his  pieces,  and  in 
these  not  to  above  a  stanza  or  two."  He  says" 
of  "The  Raven"  itself,  I  would  willingly  part 
with  far  the  greater  portion,  and  I  would  be 
stow  in  charity  the  untouched  entirety  of  the 
'Ulalumes/  and  'Lenores/  and  'Annabel  Lees/ 
and  others  of  that  make,  but  I  should  like  to 
keep  for  myself  .  .  .  nearly  all  of  the 
poem,  'To  Helen/  because  of  two  lines: 

To  the  glory  that  was  Greece 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Such  criticism  is  worthy  of  a  crude,  shallow, 
uncultured  mind — to  depreciate  the  exquisite 
gems  which  the  world  has  admired  for  over 
sixty  years,  and  to  praise  two  lines  of  a  juve 
nile  poem  written  at  the  age  of  fourteen !  It  is 
a  silly,  transparent,  mean  attempt  to  destroy 
Poe's  poetical  reputation,  but  such  criticism  is 
taken  for  what  it  is  worth  by  the  reading  pub 
lic,  and  it  is  worth  nothing  at  all.  Literature 
to  me  is  a  "dainty  goddess/'  and  I  cannot  bear 
to  see  it  drest  in  the  garb  of  imbeciles  and  pre 
tenders. 

In  striking  contrast  with  the  disparaging 
tone  of  some  so-called  American  critics  was  the 
exalted  praise  bestowed  upon  Poe  by  European 
scholars  and  critics.  An  eminent  French 


C!) t  Poe  Cult 

writer,  Teodor  de  Wyzewn,  declares  in  the 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  that  "Poe's  verse  is 
the  most  magnificent  which  the  English  lan 
guage  possesses,  and  his  poems  masterpieces 
of  emotion  and  music."  Baudelaire  makes 
American  materialism  responsible  for  Poe's 
misfortunes.  He  is  not  very  complimentary 
in  speaking  of  our  country,  saying  "this  bar 
barity — referring  to  America — crushed,  villi- 
fied,  murdered  him."  Poe,  according  to  Bau 
delaire,  "in  this  seething  mass  of  mediocrity 
and  commonplace,  cared  only  for  the  excep 
tional,  and  painted  it  with  rare  beauty  and  ex 
quisite  art."  Another  French  writer,  Barbey 
d'Aurevilly,  treats  Poe  as  "the  most  beautiful 
thing  which  that  offscouring  of  humanity- 
America — has  produced."  Poe,  stranded  "on 
that  desert  waste  was  trampled  to  death  by 
the  elephantine  feet  of  American  materialism." 
Still  another  Frenchman,  Peladan,  in  his  in 
troduction  to  a  translation  of  Poe's  Poems,  at 
tacks  this  land  "without  civilization,  without 
art,  without  nationality,  without  a  language, 
as  the  murderer  of  the  greatest  genius  of  the 
nineteenth  century." 

Twenty-three  editions  of  Poe's  Works  have 
been  published  in  France  where  he  is  regarded 
as  a  native  writer.  This  unique  distinction 
makes  him  a  world-poet. 

299 


C&e  Poe  Cult 

Among  German  scholars,  Poe  enjoys  the 
first  place  as  poet  and  prose  writer.  Dr.  Eric 
Schmidt,  of  the  University  of  Berlin,  sees  in 
Poe's  works  "the  rare  union  of  the  boldest 
fancy  and  the  keenest  intelligence."  Professor 
Wulker,  of  the  University  of  Leipsic,  pro 
nounces  him  "the  first  poet  of  North  America." 
Dr.  William  Victor,  of  the  University  of  Mar 
burg,  says,  "the  cultivated  world  owes  much 
to  Poe's  genius."  England  is  equally  enthu 
siastic.  Swinburne,  her  leading  poet,  speaks  of 
Poe's  "strong  and  delicate  genius — so  sure  of 
aim,  and  faultless  of  touch,  in  all  the  better  and 
finer  part  of  work  he  has  left  us."  He  adds: 
"I  take  leave  to  express  my  firm  conviction 
that,  widely  as  the  fame  of  Poe  has  already 
spread,  and  deeply  as  it  is  already  rooted  in 
Europe,  it  is  even  now  growing  wider  and 
striking  deeper  as  time  advances;  the  surest 
presage  that  time,  the  eternal  enemy  of  small 
and  shallow  reputations,  will  prove,  in  this 
case  also,  the  constant  and  trusty  keeper  of  a 
true  poet's  full-grown  fame."  Maurice  Hew 
lett  writes,  "Nothing  that  I  could  say  could  add 
to  Edgar  Poe's  fame.  So  far  as  Europe  is 
concerned,  he  is  sure  of  his  immortality." 
Israel  Zangwell  says,  "while  nobody  has  been 
able  to  imitate  his  poetry,  his  prose  has  cre 
ated  a  school  in  France,  in  Germany,  and  in 

300 


fte  poe  Cult 


England/'  George  Bernard  Shaw  places  Poe 
above  Tennyson,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  and 
speaks  of  his  "superb  distinction"  as  an  author, 
and  pronounces  him  "the  most  classical  of 
modern  writers."  Walter  A.  Raleigh,  of  Ox 
ford  University,  writes  "I  have  the  profound- 
est  admiration  for  Poe,  and  his  influence  on 
European  literature  has  been  enormous." 

A  writer  in  the  Nation  of  January  14,  1909, 
Curtis  H.  Page,  declares  emphatically  that 
Poe  "is  vastly  superior  to  all  his  American 
rivals  for  fame,  as  an  artist  pure  and  simple, 
whether  in  the  short  story,  or  in  verse.  There 
fore,  he  is  the  one  American  who  has  been  ac 
cepted  and  acclaimed  by  the  majority  of  intel 
ligent  Frenchmen." 

After  all  of  these  magnificent  tributes  to 
Poe's  genius,  the  discordant  croakings  of  his 
detractors  will  have  no  more  effect  upon  the 
established  fame  of  our  poet  than  the  hooting 
of  a  night-owl  has  upon  the  destiny  of  nations. 


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